you've got a pretty kind of dirty face
by aimlessly
Summary: And now he's sitting in the passenger seat of a stolen van with Florida's most notorious thief in his lap, and he has to admit, it doesn't suck. AU. AustinAlly.
1. i: headlines

**notes: **so this was originally going to be a painfully long one shot but, well. i kind of don't have the patience for that, so. voila! my first a&a multi-chapter fic has arrived! this probably won't be terribly long; probably three to five parts at the most. i enjoy writing badassbitch!ally and aloof!austin. also partially inspired by the music video for 'robbers' by the 1975 because it is very much brilliant and matty healy is my baby; and, in turn, the 90's tarantino film 'true romance.'

**warnings:** gratuitous violence, copious drug use, self destructive behavior, so much fucking crime oh my god what am i doing, probably smut later because why not.

* * *

you've got a pretty kind of dirty face 

we'll give you one more fight/ said one more line/ be a riot, 'cause i know you — robbers, the 1975

* * *

part one: headlines

* * *

Ally Dawson's name has become a national headline.

Four months ago, at the tender age of sixteen, she stole one of her father's credit cards and ran away with Elliott Cody, her boyfriend of seven months; apparently they ran out of money fairly quickly, because they promptly robbed a drugstore in Moore Haven, Florida at closing time; eyewitnesses claim the boy, clad in black pants and a black turtle neck that must've been choking him in the summer heat, held the owners at gunpoint whilst Ally grabbed the money, three bottles of Captain Morgan, five cartons of cigarettes, and peach lipgloss. The two assailants promptly thanked the stunned workers for their cooperation and dove into the back of a red '99 Camaro. Two days later, the fire department was called when guests of River's Edge Motel in Labelle, Florida complained of the air in the area being thick with black smoke. Just behind the hotel, in a clearing amidst a thicket of trees, they discovered that very Camaro, empty and in flames.

Since that first notorious burglary, there have been plenty more — Fort Myers, Boca Grande, Lake Placid. The two rogue teenagers seem to be working their way across Florida. They go in no particular order and never hit the same town twice.

Every night, the news broadcasts the same message following each and every story:

"It is still unknown if the pair is working alone, or if there are any accomplices. If you see them do not confront them; they are suspected to be armed and violent. If you have any information, please contact the FDLE or your local police department immediately."

Two more months pass; four more robberies.

They remain free.

* * *

Austin is kind of jealous of this Ally Dawson girl. It's not like being a wanted criminal is something to strive for or anything, but still, her name is in all the papers and the talk shows and that's more than he can say. She's out there having adventures and, like, doing stuff with her life. Even if it is highly illegal stuff. Okay, so he might be kind of crazy.

Still, he thinks gloomily as he climbs in his car on a sunny Saturday morning, it must be nice being out there with a friend, completely independent and free do to whatever you wish whenever you please.

He meets Dez at The Waffle House for breakfast, just like every Saturday. Austin sighs. His life is so routine.

"God, there you are! You're late. It's not even breakfast time anymore, it's like, brunch now," Dez chides him as he slides into their usual booth in the back, taking an obnoxiously large bite of his syrup-drenched waffle. Austin glares at him and orders chocolate chip pancakes.

"You're the only person I know who comes to The Waffle House to order _pancakes_."

"It wouldn't be weird if we went somewhere else for a change."

Dez gapes at him like he's just been commanded to give up his first-born. "How dare you! The Waffle House is sacred, Austin. It's tradition." Not so much tradition as matter of habit, Austin thinks bitterly. This is what he means by routine.

Dez, sensing his friend's annoyance, quickly changes the subject. "So, did you hear about Ally Dawson's boyfriend?"

Austin's head snaps up. "Elliott Cody? What about him?"

"Oh, yeah, that's his name. I always forget. Anyway. Dude, it's all over the news!" Dez tells him between bites of waffle. "Apparently they hit this place in North Port last night, but they didn't count on the owner having a gun. He shot Elliott in the chest twice. _Twice_, dude. I guess he died right away. It sucks. I mean, I'm not saying he should've gotten off scot-free but, they're our age, man. Pretty heavy stuff."

Austin just blinks, completely unaware of how this news managed to escape his attention. "Oh my god. Dude. Oh my _god_. What about Ally? Did they catch her?"

Dez shakes his head furiously, stabbing at a full sausage link with his fork and eating the entire thing in two bites. Swallowing painfully, he continues, "Nah. Apparently she fled the scene as soon as he fired the second shot. And Elliott died right away, so they couldn't even, like, interrogate him or anything."

"Do you think they'll catch up with her soon?"

This time Dez nods vigorously; he mumbles something that Austin thinks sounds like, "Oh, yeah," but his mouth is too full of food at this point to communicate through words. Austin contemplates that while he waits for his red-haired friend to finish chewing.

"Let me elaborate," Dez speaks up finally once his mouth is clear. "Not that I know personally, but I have heard from some very reliable sources that Ally is kind of dead weight in this operation — you know, she kinda just stands there and looks pretty. Her boyfriend is the brawn, and probably the brains, too. So what is she gonna do? She's still a wanted criminal, and without her boyfriend scheming for her I predict she'll be in police custody by this time next week."

Austin nods, only partially paying attention as a heaping stack of warm pancakes is placed in front of him. "That makes sense," he says, taking a bite. He sighs happily. No matter what, pancakes will always be there for him.

"When she does get caught, I hope she writes a tell-all novel about her life and crimes. I'm gonna direct the movie based on it. Megan Fox is gonna play Ally and I will most likely play Elliott, meaning I will be up for not only Best Director, but for Best Actor at the Oscars as well."

Austin shakes his head, chuckling. What was he thinking? His life may be routine, but really all he needs are his best friend and pancakes (though those two are often interchangeable.) Still, he cannot help the unanswered questions from gnawing away at his insides. In all honesty, he is a little disappointed — he's been following the Ally Dawson and Elliott Cody case since the beginning, and it fascinates him. It's going to be weird not turning on the news and seeing that they've hit somewhere else, where people least expect. There will always be the court case, he supposes. That should be interesting.

"Yo, Austin. Quit with the dead eyes and talk to me over here. What's on your mind, dude?"

Austin bites his lip, contemplating whether or not he should lay his thoughts on the table. "I, just. I don't know. I feel kind of bad. She's out there all alone and now she doesn't have her boyfriend and she's probably scared shitless, and now they're gonna catch her and lock her up and all the freedom she's had these past few months is gonna be taken away. Am I crazy for feeling bad for them — her because she's alone and him because he's, well, dead?"

"Definitely crazy," Dez agrees, stealing a pancake from the top of Austin's stack and placing on his now completely cleaned plate. "Don't get me wrong; it sucks. But, well, they're still _criminals,_ you know?"

Austin huffs out a sigh, pushing his half-full plate towards Dez.

Dez' eyes widen comically. "Seriously, dude?"

Austin just nods. He's not very hungry anymore; he sips his water and tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat.

Dez just grins. "Thanks, man," he mumbles, mouth full of cakey, gooey chocolate goodness. "You're the best."

The only sound for the remainder of the morning is the sound of Austin's fingers tapping on the table and Dez' obnoxious chewing, blissfully unaware.

* * *

Nobody has ever commended Austin for his intelligence, which is probably a good thing, because no intelligent person goes for a midnight stroll on this side of town. Even Austin wouldn't, under normal circumstances — he's seen all the horror films and he knows this is the part where a masked man steps out from behind a tree and cuts his head off with a machete or something.

At least if he _did_ have a run-in with a serial killer and survived — because of course he'd survive; he's practically a master at martial arts, with those three classes he took when he was seven — he'd have something cool to brag about.

Miami isn't the safest place, not by a long shot, but Austin doubts he'll be running into any serial killers tonight. He sighs, feeling very mopey and bad for himself because he _can_, dammit. He kicks a rock dramatically, crossing his arms in front of his chest and pouting. Everything sucks. He just wants to do something interesting.

Austin finds himself wondering what Ally Dawson is doing tonight. It's been over a week since Elliott Cody was killed, but contrary to Dez' prediction and much to Austin's surprise, she hasn't been caught yet. There have been no other reported robberies, but the girl remains elusive.

Elliott Cody's autopsy revealed some grisly details: thieving wasn't the worst of his problems. Come on. They're trouble kids, but they weren't expecting to find traces of extensive abuse of cocaine and yellow jackets.

A black GMC Vandura roars past just then, pulling him from his thoughts. It barrels on down the road, and Austin finds himself yelling, "Slow down; you're gonna kill somebody!" out of pure spite. It's not like they can hear him — the windows are all shut and the ground is practically vibrating from the booming music coming from the van.

Or, like. Maybe they can, because just then, about fifty feet down, the driver slams on the brakes. Hard. And then the car is making a really sharp, dangerous, completely illegal U-turn and wow, Austin really regrets not running his laps during gym. He doesn't even have time to turn and book it to the closest house when a voice comes out of the darkness. "Don't move." And then there's a shot being fired but he's not hit (a blank, maybe?). He obeys, heart pounding like cymbals as he gazes at the car that's stopped next to him. A hooded form jumps out of the front seat, and oh fuck, okay. That's a real gun. Hooded Assailant promptly yanks open the sliding door to the back of the van, and tells him, "Get in."

Austin contemplates running again, because if the gun is full of blanks, he can get away no problem. There's a CVS around here somewhere. But if there are actual bullets in that thing, well. He doesn't want to think about it.

Stupidly, he decides not to chance it.

So he slumps forward, defeated, and crawls into the dark of the back of the van, and he's barely inside before the door slams shut. There's a board or something installed between the back of the van and the front seats, which Austin is pretty sure is illegal, but then again. So is threatening strangers with a gun and forcing them into the back of your van. Somehow, Austin thinks legality is the least of their worries.

The floor rumbles beneath him, signaling the car is moving again. From the front of the car, he can hear something that sounds dangerously close to swing music. He shakes his head in disbelief and leans back against the inside of the car, feeling like he's going to puke or pass out or die or maybe all three. Okay, maybe not die, but he's definitely going to puke, any second now —

Aw, fuck.

He cringes as he feels bile crawling up his throat and swallows it down the best he can, which in turn only makes him want to vomit more.

The door opens again, squeaking violently on its hinges and from the darkness beyond the cracked doors comes a distinctly female voice.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Austin squeaks out, trying to make out a face, but all he can see is their - _her_ - shadow looming there, frighteningly still.

"Do you smoke?"

Austin opens his mouth, closes it again. "Is this a police investigation? Because I swear to god that whatever it is, I'm not involved."

"Answer the question." The voice itself is sweet, but the tone is so harsh and demanding it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"What was the question again?"

The voice huffs impatiently. "_Do you smoke?_"

"No," Austin answers truthfully, crawling slowly towards the source of the voice. He jumps back when the lithe, shadow figure draws a gun from behind her back, pointing it square at him. Enough with the guns already, Austin thinks. Seriously.

"Stay back." Her voice is like ice. Austin draws his knees to his chest. Seemingly satisfied, his capturer continues her questioning. "Do you drink?"

"Um. Not really."

"Do you know how to use a gun?"

Austin purses his lips, unsure of how to answer. Maybe if he says yes she'll get scared and let him go. "Yeah. Sure."

The shadow goes silent, pondering. "He's perfect," she says, voice sugary sweet like cough syrup. "Trish!" she yells then, slamming the door closed on him yet again. "We're keeping him; let's go!"

Austin blinks, confused. So he's not dead. Yet. But he doesn't know what's going on or where he is or who these people are and what they want with. Austin is a fairly good person; he doesn't understand why anyone would intentionally nab him off the street. And he never thought he'd end up victim of a random act of violence.

Rather abruptly, fingers are pulling away the board blocking him from the driver's seat, and dammit, he could've done that if he'd known it was a piece of damn plywood and also was not recovering from being threatened with a gun and kidnapped. He blinks, the bright lights from the passing cars on the road harsh on his eyes which have grown fairly accustomed to the darkness in the fifteen whole minutes he's spent in the back.

"You can come sit up here, if you want." The voice belongs to the same girl who threatened him with her gun. Twice. And then had the nerve to interrogate him.

"Who are y-"

"If you're going to ask questions, you can just stay back there," the voice snaps harshly.

So Austin shuts up. But then he talks again. Because, well. "Um, there aren't any other seats..." He trails off, wondering if he's missing something.

"Oh, where are my manners? Here." The girl promptly unbuckles and hoists herself onto the center console, gesturing for Austin to take a seat in the passenger seat.

"Watch your damn legs; I swear to god if I crash the car because of you I will _not_ be held responsible this time!" The driver — also female, Austin notes with surprise — hisses.

"Cool it, Trish. I'm just trying to let our new friend here get settled in." Not wanting to be responsible for a crash and probably his own death, Austin awkwardly clambers over the headrest into the passenger seat. Hooded Girl promptly scoots off the console and onto his lap, pushing off her hood and fluffing her hair.

"Am I too heavy for you?" She giggles, and he can see her eyes now - dark brown and sparkling with mischief.

"No. No...not at all," he sputters out disbelievingly. Austin isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and his vision isn't perfect, and he certainly isn't completely in his right mind at the moment but there's no way his eyes are playing tricks on him this time.

"God, Ally, you're sure this is for sure the one you want? You didn't want to wait and maybe we'd find someone, you know, not so scrawny and...blonde?" The driver — Austin has come to the conclusion that her name is Trish — wrinkles her nose as she glances at him.

"_I_ think he's cute," Ally (it can't be that Ally, no, not that one, oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh) says, grinning at him. Yeah, that's definitely Sinatra playing over the speakers. "What's your name?"

"Austin Moon." The words barely come out as a whisper. And then, before he can stop himself, he blurts, "Are you Ally Dawson?"

The girl's lips curl upwards in a feral grin. "You can call me that."

Austin doesn't know what that means, exactly, and he doesn't ask; he just takes it as a resounding yes which makes his pulse throb and his head spin.

It's not like he didn't want adventure in life; he totally did. It's just that getting kidnapped wasn't exactly at the top of his bucket list. He's still not sure that it should be.

But now he's sitting in the passenger seat of a most likely stolen van going something like thirty miles over the speed limit on the freeway in the middle of the night with the living member of Florida's most notorious duo of thieves in his lap and Sinatra blaring over the speakers, and he has to admit, it doesn't suck.

* * *

end part one

* * *

**i am literally so excited for this story. you guys don't even understand. please let me know what you think — it would make me a very happy little flower. **


	2. ii: yayo

**notes:** thank you guys so, so much for your completely awesome response to the first chapter, which was actually more of a prologue, but. whatever. you guys rock. i'm like 99% sure this is already bordering on an m rating but i cbf to change it lmao.

**warnings:** drug usage + distribution, some language, vague or not so vague sexual situations, blah blah blah

* * *

you snort it like a champ/ like the winter we're not in/ come on down to florida/ i've got something for you — florida kilos, lana del rey

* * *

part two: yayo

* * *

Austin wakes up in a daze with a sleeping girl on his lap, his throat feeling particularly dry and he arm numb from leaning on it for god knows how long. She's curled up, with her face pressed against his neck, and her tiny little breaths are tickling him. They're still in the car, except now the sun is rising over the horizon — or is it setting? He's terribly disoriented; for a few horrifying seconds, he wonders if he's been drugged. A quick check at the clock, however - 6:53 am - confirms that it is, indeed, morning and all is right with the world. Or at least as right as it can be in a situation such as this one. He shifts in the carseat, careful not to jostle Ally in case she's not a morning person, because, well, she is the one with the gun. Out the tinted window, the sky is a mess of cotton candy pink and purple and tangerine. It's beautiful, and something Austin isn't used to seeing considering the last time he got up before 7 am was...he doesn't remember, actually. It was a long time ago, though.

"Have we been driving all night?" he asks, voice coming out hoarse and generally sounding very much unlike him.

Trish nods, not even bothering to look at him as she gestures to the multiple empty cans of Full Throttle littering the floor by her feet. The air is no longer humming with the musical stylings of Sinatra; Trish must've changed the music while they were asleep. It isn't loud, but the beat is familiar.

"Biggie?" he asks knowingly, smiling over at the girl called Trish.

Trish raises her eyebrows. "The white boy knows Biggie. I'm impressed."

"I'm not _that_ white," he pouts.

"Whitest I've ever seen."

Austin furrows his brow — he has questions, is the thing. A lot of questions. He just isn't exactly sure how to approach the matter of _why the hell am I here and what is going on and where are we going_. Before he can open his mouth to awkwardly engage Trish in more conversation, she continues.

"Ally hates this stuff; she never lets me listen to _my_ music, so I only get to listen to the classics when she's asleep. Which is almost never." Trish makes the 'cuckoo' signal and rolls her eyes. "Her sleeping for more than, like, three hours is a miracle. Your lap must be pretty comfortable."

It is just then that Ally stirs in his lap. She blinks groggily, yawning and stretching out like she's forgotten Austin is there.

"Oh!" She squeaks, startled when her hand comes in contact with Austin's face, dangerously close to poking his eyeball out. "So you weren't just a dream." She smiles dreamily at him, winking and wow, now is definitely not the time to get a boner. Thankfully, she slides off his lap and back onto the center console, much to Trish's dismay.

"Move," Ally tells him, voice friendly but demanding as she gestures for him to move to the back again.

He groans. "Are you gonna put the board back up?"

"Of course not." Her voice is positively saccharine, and frankly, Austin isn't sure whether to be turned on or disturbed. He's a little bit of both; physically the former, mentally the latter. So Austin obeys, crawling into the back and landing onto the plastic floor of the van with a pained _oof_.

"Thank you, dear." Ally thanks him with a smile as she slides back into the passenger seat, reclining it slightly and kicking her feet up onto the dashboard. Turning to Trish, she asks, "So have you and Austin gotten acquainted?" Austin frowns; that's a really inappropriate question to be asking considering that Ally had said approximately ten words to him before falling asleep in his lap. He wouldn't exactly call _that_ acquainted.

"I guess so. Like I said, girl, you could've picked someone...I dunno, more _my_ type this time, but whatever. Clearly you know what you want. And the boy knows Biggie, so he's not all bad."

Ally's lips curve downward, clearly unamused. "Speaking of Biggie, turn this off." Before Trish can retaliate, Ally pops the CD out of its slot and retrieves her Sinatra CD from the dashboard, blowing on it and cleaning it with the hem of her shirt before popping it back in. She smiles, content, as the resounding sound of saxophones fills the small space. "Much better."

Trish merely glares at her, setting her jaw in frustration as she presses down on the gas.

Out of nowhere, Ally throws her head back and moans obnoxiously. "Trish, how much longer?"

Trish sighs, like an exhausted mother trying to keep a whining toddler content. "We're in Bartow, or we were twenty minutes ago. We should be in Tampa within a half hour."

Ally groans, clearly not satisfied with this response. It's quiet then, and Austin thinks this would probably be a good time to speak up.

"You're Ally Dawson." It's the only thing he can think of at that moment, and he curses himself for being so stupid. Idiot. Of course she is.

"Oh my gosh, _and _the beautiful Trish de la Rosa," he hears Trish grumble under her breath.

"Well, actually," Ally says, fishing around in her pocket for something and pulling out a card with a flourish. She hands it so him, grinning coyly. "I'm Alabama Ware."

Austin blinks, peering at the card. The photo is undeniably Ally, but the name reads very clearly _Ware, Alabama A._ "Fake ID?"

"I know a guy," Ally says with a smirk as she takes the card back and repockets it.

"Wow, excuse me?" Trish pipes up, turning fully to look at Ally which is really incredibly dangerous, but neither girl seems to mind. Then she turns all the way around to look at Austin, rolling her eyes. "She means _I_ know a guy. God, Ally. Don't take all the credit."

Ally holds up her hands apologetically. "Sorry. _We_ know a guy." Trish glares at her but turns back to the road, much to Austin's relief. He stops holding his breath.

"Alabama, though?" He asks incredulously, on the verge of laughing. "Out of all the fake names you could've chosen for yourself...Alabama? Really?"

"It's from an old movie. You wouldn't understand." Ally waves her hand dismissedly.

They coast along in silence for a little while until Austin realizes he has more questions.

"Why are we going to Tampa?"

Ally snorts. "Things." The way she says it makes his blood run cold. No, no, no. Riding in the car and talking with Ally Dawson and holding her in his lap is one thing. Accompanying her in a heist is a completely different thing, something he really doesn't want to do.

Before he can protest and/or tuck and roll out of the car, Ally pipes up, voice cheery. "Ooh, Trish, there's a mini-mart up ahead! Pull over so we can get food!"

Ally is out of the car before Trish even parks, hopping around and stretching. In light, she's nowhere near as frightening as she was last night — just a normal girl with alabaster skin, dark hair and dark eyes clad in black ankle boots, tight black pants and a black leather jacket. She's really quite pretty — Dez always assumed she probably looked nothing like her pictures in the news because of all the hard drugs she did, but. Alas, she looks nearly identical, except her hair is longer and there are purplish blue half-moons under her eyes.

Just a normal girl who happens to have a gun hidden under her coat.

* * *

"I want baby carrots. They better sell baby carrots here."

The small, rundown mini-mart is empty save for the lone, withered man who stands at the counter looking like he's been standing in that same spot all night. Ally is chipper, skipping ahead of Austin and Trish through the doors.

"It's like trying to manage an overexcited toddler," Trish hisses to him, but when she looks at Ally her eyes are fond. Austin just laughs, surprised.

He wonders if he should sneak out and find a pay phone to call the police. Or he can ask the old man at the counter for help. But Trish, sensing his unease, stays close to him. She doesn't say anything but Austin knows she's keeping him from taking off.

Fifteen minutes later they've got a shopping basket piled high with baby carrots, energy drinks, granola bars, a cheap lavender scented candle that Ally insisted on and a box of Froot Loops, per Austin's request. He may or may not have seen Ally sneak a bottle of Absolut into Trish's purse.

The man at the counter keeps his eyes trained on Ally's face as he scans the items. She keeps an easy, even smile on her face

"You know, you look a lot like that Dawson girl from the news," he tells her finally, narrowing his eyes in uncertainty.

Ally bats her eyelashes at him, smile sickeningly sweet. "I'm afraid you must have me confused with somebody else; I have no idea what on earth you're talking about. Now, if you could just finish ringing my friends and I up," she says, voice cloying but firm as she fishes out her fake ID from her cross-body purse and hands it to him along with a credit card, "as we've really got to get going, thank you."

The man widens his eyes at he looks from the card to her and back to the card, and for a minute Austin is sure he's going to pull up a photo of Ally from the newspaper, but he doesn't. He just harrumphs, grumbling something like _these damn kids nowadays all look the same._

* * *

Trish retires to the back of the van to rest as soon as they return to the car, leaving Austin to sit up front with Ally at the wheel.

Ally withdraws a carton of Camel Menthols from her bag, tapping the edge of the pack so one comes sliding out. She holds out the pack to Austin, grudgingly offering him one, and he quietly declines. They're on the road again as soon as she lights up, cracking the window a tiny bit to discard her ashes.

"I wanna drive," Austin pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking low in the seat.

"One day you will," Ally assures him. "You understand why we can't let you drive right now, though, right?"

_One day. _The words echo in his mind, heart pounding. Since when were his hands so clammy? One day. She's going to keep him._ Why, because I'll turn us right around and drive us straight to the police instead? _Austin almost says but doesn't. Yeah, he understands. So he simply nods once, feeling something akin to fear squeezing his heart as he is once again reminded that he _is being kidnapped, _the reality that it is by Ally fucking Dawson notwithstanding. He has to take a few deep breaths, fidgeting uncomfortably. His mother has probably sent out ten search parties to find him by now and contacted every police station in the state.

"What're you thinking about?" Ally asks, noticing his discomfort.

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar," she laughs but doesn't press the issue further. Austin prides himself on his incredibly tough, manly demeanor and physique but right now he kind of just wants to cry. Instead, he rests his head on the window, closing his eyes. Deep, even breaths, Austin. You can do this, everything is going to be fine.

"How do you know Trish?" He asks, suddenly curious; he thinks he can hear Trish mutter something from the back.

"She's kind of like my sister, unofficially. I mean, like. She's Elliott's cousin's friend's sister, I think." Ally says this as she pops _Blue Hawaii_ into the CD slot. She is clearly a girl of many tastes.

"How long have you guys known each other?"

Ally smiles a little. "Every getaway car needs a getaway driver. Trish had heard about our first stint in Moore Haven, and she was interested in joining us. She's been with us ever since."

"So you did have an accomplice," Austin says, stunned.

"Huh?"

"It's just, the news. They always said they didn't know if you had any accomplices or not."

Ally rolls her eyes. "Idiots."

"So why did you guys come back to Miami? Last I heard you were in North Port. What brought you all the way back?"

Ally answers automatically, tugging at the collar of her jacket. "This."

"The jacket?" Austin muses, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"It was Elliott's," Ally expains, her eyes flashing with something unrecognizable and, oh, wow, it's awesome knowing that the girl who slept on his lap was wearing her deceased boyfriend's jacket. "I wanted something of his; we had to destroy everything when we abandoned the car after he was killed." She sighs longingly.

"I'm really sorry," Austin says quietly. Much to his surprise, Ally just rolls her eyes at him.

"It's whatever. He was kind of a dick, anyway."

Austin's jaw drops and his flounders around in his mind, trying desperately to remember how to close it. "But he was your _boyfrie_-"

"Didn't feel like it. By that point we were just accomplices, partners, whatever."

"Then why did you want his jacket...?" Austin's mind is spinning. This is too much information for him to process at once.

"He was good to me, though," Ally replies, smiling gently. "We pulled off six and a half jobs together. Elliott was still special. He was like my best friend." There is a sadness in her eyes.

"I thought you said he was a dick."

"He was."

Austin gives up on trying to understand this girl's logic. "So do you regret running away with him?"

Ally is quiet a moment, pursing her lips, before she responds. "No."

A beat of silence, then — "So why did you choose me?"

She smiles at him then. "Because I think you're special, too."

Austin can only blink at her, stunned, feeling warm all over and then he's leaning back in the worn leather seat and listening to Elvis Presley sing, "_Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you,_" and he wonders what this means, symbolically.

* * *

"We're in Tampa, wake up!"

Ally's voice is shrill and Trish and Austin simultaneously jump, startled, from their resting places — Austin from his place against the window, half-empty box of Froot Loops in his lap (shut up, he gets hungry when he's panicking) and Trish, snoring atop a cluster of pillows in the back.

Austin panicks. "Idon'twannarobanyone!" he blurts, unable to contain his dismay. He expects Ally to either a) push him out of this moving car or b) shoot him in the face. What he doesn't expect for her to do is c) laugh. She shakes her head at him.

"It's your lucky day, then," she says. "We're going to go pick up."

"God, I hope you're talking about groceries," Austin says pleadingly, even though he knows very well what she's talking about.

Ally just laughs again, harder this time, and his heart sinks all the way to his stomach.

* * *

Not ten minutes later they're parked in front of a tan, villa style home. Ally whips out her phone and makes a call. "Yeah, we're here. Okay. Alright, cool. See you in a sec." Turning to face Trish, barely able to contain her grin, she says, "He's gonna bring the car around the back. Get whatever shit of yours you need for tonight, both of you, and let's go."

Trish rolls her eyes and leans in close to mutter to Austin. "If you thought she was crazy before, just wait." They both watch as Ally throws herself out of the car and runs to meet a dark-haired boy coming down the stone walkway in front of the house. She reaches up to hug him, and he embraces her, hands wrapping around her waist and squeezing her in a way that is definitely more than just friendly. Austin's jaw definitely does not set and he totally doesn't grit his teeth, because he's definitely not jealous.

Austin scrunches his nose in confusion. "We're spending the night here? _Who_ is he, anyway?"

"The dealer? That's Dallas, this guy who my brother knows through a friend's older brother. I guess Ally's finally decided he's attractive enough to want to stay the night." If Austin wasn't gritting his teeth before, he totally is now. Isn't. He isn't. Because he's not jealous. Grabbing her bag from under the passenger seat, she sighs, as if she's mentally preparing herself for the night ahead. "Let's get this over with."

She steps out of the car lightly, greeting the dark-haired boy called Dallas with what is, put bluntly, the phoniest, most over-the-top greeting Austin has ever seen. Austin stays in the car, suddenly all too conscious of what he's getting himself into, the reality of it all reverberating in his head over and over.

The sliding door to the back opens again and Ally hops in, face flushed and easy grin on her face. "Hey!" she says when she sees him, frozen in place in the corner. "Come on, we're gonna head inside so Dallas can move the car around to the back garage. It's a lot safer that way." She explains all this whilst grabbing one of the pillows from the mound of them on the floor and promptly ripping it open easily, and wow those are barely stitched together and — oh, okay, the pillows are full of dollar bills. Awesome. Cool. As if the whole armed robbery and drugs thing wasn't enough in theory. Frankly, Austin is surprised he didn't see that one coming.

Ally snatches up a handful of the fallen bills and shoves them into her bag before sweeping the rest back into the pillowcase and folding it over. Austin takes a breath as a wave of nausea rolls over him, and he is really and truly contemplating running to the phone once he's inside the house and calling the cops for something like the tenth time today. But right now, all he can do is follow Ally up the path like a little lost puppy, except he has to run back to the car because he forgot his Froot Loops, and, okay. Now he's good. He's just going to go inside and sit and maybe watch some television and eat the rest of his cereal while everyone else does hard drugs in another room.

Unfortunately for Austin, things never really work out the way he'd like them to. After Dallas has pulled the car around to the back and everyone is settled in the living room, Ally pulls her fucking pillow money out of her purse and counts it out, handing it over to the dark-haired, stupidly tan boy with the most seductive look Austin has ever seen. She looks all too ecstatic when he hands over the tightly-wrapped white mound, and Austin thinks he's going to faint. He focuses on untying and retying his shoelaces into perfect knots as Ally gets busy chopping it up into fine, white powder. It's kind of pretty, Austin thinks, like snow. Except that it's cocaine.

"Austin," she says, startling him thoroughly, gesturing to one of the perfect little white lines she's created on the surface of the glass table. "First line is free."

Austin shakes his head automatically, tries to play it cool. "No, thanks." He expects Ally to laugh or tease him but she just shrugs and mutters, "More for me, then." And, wow. He's sitting in a drug dealer's living room while said drug dealer and Ally Dawson do lines of coke off his goddamned coffee table. He kind of wants to shake Ally and ask her what the hell, why, why do you do these things, you're smarter than this —

— and then it dawns on him, the horrible realization that maybe she isn't. That maybe she doesn't know any better. Until now he has seen her as a leader; crazy, maybe, but clever and cunning and unparalleled, always smiling and full of witty remarks to ease his suspicions.

Normal, happy girls don't run away from home.

Austin recalls a statistic he wishes he didn't know: 43% of runaway females show symptoms of PTSD.

"I'm going to shower," Ally says, suddenly and loudly, standing up abruptly, leaving a single line left on the table like she's expecting Austin to snuff it while she's gone. She may or may not have brushed her hand across Dallas' crotch. Austin is just going to pretend it was an accident. She is high, after all.

Dallas promptly follows her down the hall, and, wow. This is just awesome. Austin groans and collapses back on the cushions.

Trish is sitting at the edge of the couch with a brown bottle in her hand, looking plenty exasperated. Hoping to find some kind of comfort in the brash Latina girl, Austin scoots over to her, trying and failing to be subtle about his discomfort with the entire situation.

"You don't do coke?" Yes, Austin. Excellent way to initiation any conversation. Austin Monica Moon, everybody: King of Communication.

Trish gapes at him, looking fairly offended. "Of course not! Are you crazy? The getaway driver cannot afford to get hooked on hard drugs. I usually just pound Jack Daniels in the corner until these two fucktards are done being...fucktards."

Austin can't help but grin. Trish is definitely growing on him.

"Ah, yes, because the getaway car driver can't afford to be hooked on coke, but she definitely can afford to get drunk off her ass and risk crashing said getaway car," he jokes, laughing nervously when Trish gives him a death stare.

"Shut up. I've got a high tolerance rate. I don't get drunk, I just have fun."

Austin is going to say something totally hilarious in response to Trish's little quip when an intensely loud moan comes from somewhere down the hall, over the sound of running water. The tips of Austin's ears get intensely red and he feels his face getting warm.

Trish's eyes widen and she shrieks. "Oh, my god. They're idiots, I swear. Cover your ears or something. I'll be right back." She stalks off down the hall, bottle in hand. Austin claps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing when he hears her screech, "Yo! Keep it down in there or I'm coming in there myself and chopping someone's balls off, you hear me?"

A few moments later Trish returns, rolling her eyes and grumbling, "Fucking idiots."

There's another moan, much softer this time but very much there, and Austin reaches out for the bottle in Trish's hand. She gladly hands it over and he takes a comically large gulp, ignoring the awful taste in his mouth.

Austin isn't jealous. It doesn't matter that Ally slept on his lap and called him cute and picked him over everyone else because she thinks he's special, even if it was to help her pull off highly illegal things. She probably does that with everyone. He isn't jealous.

He is snapped out of his reverie when Trish claps him on the back, her face sympathetic. "I feel your pain, kiddo."

* * *

end part two

* * *

lmao sorry i am 10000% here for trish/austin friendship. mostly i'm just here for trish. one of these days i will write a 50-chapter epic starring the life and times of trish de la rosa.

**please tell me what you think, especially if you favorite/alert — your guys' feedback means the world to me. x**

_*(yayo is cocaine, in case anyone was confused with the chapter title.)_


	3. iii: freakshow

**notes:** i think this may be my favorite chapter thus far. it was actually kind of hard to write for me and it starts off fairly slow, i think, but never fear — a ridiculous amount of feelings and angsting lies ahead, kiddos. consider yourselves properly warned.

**warnings:** same as always, folks.

* * *

in my experience, the prettier a girl is, the more nuts she is, which makes you insane. — ryan gosling, blue valentine

* * *

part three: freakshow

* * *

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wakey wakey." _No_. Limbs heavy, pain in his head, brain screaming at him _go back to sleep._

Austin groans and rolls over, right off the damn couch. When he finally opens his eyes, blinking sleepily, Trish is hovering over him expectantly. "We're leaving soon. Get up, white boy." Austin only grumbles miserably in response, curling up loosely on the floor and closing his eyes again. "Oh, boy," Trish huffs, "I didn't wanna have to do this, but you're leaving me no choice here."

She's full of shit, Austin thinks with a contented smirk. He curls up tighter, warm and sleepy and fairly cozy. Dallas' carpet is really soft.

Until there's ice cold water being poured on his head.

"I'm up!" He gasps, shooting up from the floor so quickly he thinks The Flash would be jealous. It's a good thing he's quick to recover fr — wow, Ally Dawson is sitting a few feet away, giggling, in her bra and a skirt. Okay. Good morning to him, then.

Ally doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed; she's just sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the thin streams of sunlight coming in through a crack in the curtains, brushing out her long, dark hair. The light gives her a halo effect, which is kind of ironic. She is thin in a way that healthy girls usually aren't, and despite her being fairly well-endowed in the chest area, the sunlight hits her in a way that he thinks he can see the ridges of her chest bones. It makes him sad; he's not sure why. When she decides her hair is sufficiently detangled, she leans down, holding her hair back with one hand, and snuffs the final line of coke that she's been saving. Looking re energized, she springs up like the Energizer Bunny and skips over to ruffle Austin's hair affectionately. She smells clean, like cinnamon and coconut and ocean water.

"Morning," she chirps before peering in the full-length mirror by the couch. She sucks in her already hollowed cheeks even further, juts out her hips like a model. Finally, much to Austin's disappointment, she grabs her shirt from where it's lying on the couch and tugs it on, followed by Elliott's leather jacket. "Are you gonna shower?" She asks Austin, wrinkling her nose.

"I would honestly rather jump off a cliff than go in that shower after what went down in there last night," he answers honestly, ducking out of the way when Ally chucks a pillow at his head.

"Jealous?" She teases, playful grin on her face. God, she's pretty. And really, completely batshit insane. Austin thinks he can overlook that.

"Oh, definitely."

"Yo, I hate to break up this little...whatever the fuck this is," Trish cuts in, eyes narrowed in annoyance, "but we should really get going. Austin, there's another shower upstairs." She gestures to a narrow staircase by the front door. "If you're not done in ten minutes we're leaving your ass here with Dallas."

Austin has never gotten up a set of stairs so quickly in his goddamned life.

After he has properly showered within about seven minutes, he returns downstairs only to find Ally waiting for him, tapping her foot impatiently.

"You look nice," he tells her before his mind can catch up and stop him. And it's true — standing there in her scuffed ankle boots and worn black tights/black skirt combo, with her dead boyfriend's leather jacket hanging off her tiny frame, hair wild and long around her face that still retains tracks of yesterday's mascara, he thinks she is the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

* * *

He's squeaky clean and changed back into his gross old clothes, and Ally has finally, finally said goodbye to Dallas, and they've all triple-checked that they have everything they need, so Austin finally gets to crawl into the back of the van and close his eyes. He's tired, but now is not the time for sleep. He has time to think, now, about the information he's been processing for the past few hours.

He'd had so many questions about Ally he wanted to ask, and last night would've been the the opportune moment to ask them since the girl in question was too busy being fucked into oblivion to join them, except Trish sas being really nice and he didn't want to be that asshole who goes and asks a million questions about somebody else.

So he asked about her, instead.

He learned, over the course of three hours and four - _four_! - bottles of Jack Daniels - Trish is quite the talker, once she gets going - that Trish is nineteen going on fifty (or at least that's what she feels like, trying to keep up with Ally's audacious nature and ill-advised decisions.) She is from Miami, originally, and she loves her little brother who she prays is doing alright in her absence, and she hates her alcoholic father very, very much with the fiery passion of a million blazing suns — she tells him this whilst downing the remainder of her fourth bottle.

After quite some time prattling on about how much of an asswad her father is, Trish had said abruptly, "I know you really want to know about Ally and you're just using me as a ways of getting more information." Austin had tried to dispute that, but Trish had simply held up one hand. "Don't apologize. I get it. Ally is... different."

Austin merely snorted in response. Trish had glared at him. "I know, I know. But she's got a good heart, maybe. I think. Sort of. I think she cares more than she'd like to let on."

Austin had only nodded, pursing his lips. Trish had opened her mouth then, breathing deeply as if she was about to tell him everything he'd ever want or need to know about Ally Dawson — and promptly passed out.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because it was four in the morning. Probably both.

But either way, she left Austin alone to wallow in his thoughts, and now, thinking about it makes his head hurt all over again, so he tries to sleep, instead, the sun coming in through the windows warm on his face.

* * *

When Austin wakes up, his hair has dried in such a way that he would normally find horrifying, and he has an urgent matter that needs addressing.

"I hate to make this all about me, but considering I was taken without notice nor choice," Austin pipes up before pausing, letting that sink in, "I alas do not have any other clothes to wear and until further notice will be stuck in these gross ones. Just so you guys are aware."

"I may have stolen some of Dallas' clothes for you." Ally's lips turn up at the corners as she tosses a fairly heavy duffle bag onto his lap. Austin isn't quite sure how he feels about this.

"Won't he be mad when he finds some of his stuff missing?"

"Austin, there's a chance the guy wouldn't notice if you hit him over the head with a frying pan. Trust me, he won't even realize anything is missing. And in the highly unlikely event that he does, he won't even care, because he's, like, unhealthily obsessed with me." Ally rolls her eyes and shrugs. "I don't know what that's about."

"You guys fucked in his shower and then spent the entire rest of the night fucking. And you were not subtle."

Ally grins cheekily and pinches his earlobe, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek. It's enough to make his face burn red. "Aw, are you jealous, sweetheart?"

Austin just looks down and fiddles with his shirt because he isn't blushing, not one bit. "There better not be coke in the pockets," he grumbles. Over the speakers, Johnny Cash croons, _I'll admit that I'm a fool for you._

Austin really can't believe this is how these things keep working out for him.

* * *

Dallas might have been kind of a creep, but Austin immediately misses the nice soft carpet and clean couch and beds that probably did not have corpses hidden under them as they pull into the mostly empty lot of the Howard Johnson Inn, which Austin has learned is just a fancy word for _shitty motel with a gross five-foot deep swimming pool that's more brown than blue because it hasn't been cleaned since 1962. _

Okay, so. It isn't actually that bad. He's seen worse, and he's sure Ally and Trish have spent time in much filthier places.

"It's cute," Ally says earnestly as she hops out of the car. It's probably the coke talking. Scratch that. It's definitely the coke talking.

"I told you she was fucking crazy. This place is a shithole, Ally. Stop being an optimist for two fucking seconds and be honest with yourself here."

Austin doesn't say anything, but he secretly hopes one day he can be as grateful for something - or someone - as Ally is for a roof over her head.

Then he looks over at her, all dark eyes and flushed cheeks and skinny limbs, always a step too far ahead of herself and ten steps ahead of everybody else, and he thinks that maybe he already is.

Austin reaches over and abruptly slams his hand down on the dial, shutting off the music.

Shut the fuck up, Cash.

* * *

They spend approximately half an hour watching old cartoons on the small, grainy tv and eating Apple Jacks, which are good but not as good as the sugary, almost orgasmic greatness of Froot Loops in the motel room before Ally starts getting restless.

"Can we go already?"

Austin frowns at her, puzzled. "Go where?"

"You're kidding, right?"

And then it all falls into place and Austin feels like something inside him is cracking wide open and letting all his vital organs spill out onto the dirty carpet. "No," he whispers, disbelievingly but firm nonetheless.

"What do you mean, no?"

Feeling brave, Austin takes a deep breath and starts. "I mean no. Look, Ally, if you want to fuck around with your dealers and smoke and do coke all day then be my guest. I don't care. But I'm not helping you do this."

Ally looks positively horrified. "You said you would! You promised you'd help!"

"You kidnapped me! What else was I fucking supposed to say, Ally?"

His jaw almost drops at the severity of her delusion.

"You promised," she whispers again, glaring at him.

"No, I didn't."

Ally sets her jaw, eyes burning like coals and for a moment he is scared, because he's never seen her this mad.

"Fine," she says, voice eerily even and so, so quiet. "Come on, Trish." And then they're out the door, Ally with her backpack slung easily over one shoulder, but not before Trish gives Austin a long, icy death stare that makes his stomach ache.

He realizes this is it; he can leave. The door isn't bolted from the outside, and he's alone. He can run and run and run or call the police or something — something, though, keeps him rooted to his spot on the edge of the mattress.

He thinks he could run to the other end of the earth and Ally would still find him, eventually.

* * *

It's late afternoon, sun high in the air and beating down relentlessly on the earth, when he hears it. The roaring of a car speeding past, and he thinks nothing of it. But then — the squealing of brakes, so piercing and sharp he thinks his ears may bleed. Somebody yelling.

Then, silence.

It is then that Ally barges through the door, walking with a limp, dropping the backpack to the floor; dollar bills come trickling out through the tiny opening where it hasn't been zipped all the way. Her face is blank when she says it.

"I guess here they have no qualms about shooting at girls."

And then she drops to her knees.

She's clutching her side, and when she lifts up her — well, Elliott's — jacket, Austin sees the open wound where the bullet must have grazed her, just above the jut of her hipbone. Before his brain can even register what he's doing, he is across the room and kneeling beside her, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of protectiveness.

"Fuck off," Ally merely spits at him, grimacing in pain but still finding it in herself to shove him away.

Later, after Trish has given him a proper talking to that scars him for life and assigned him the Very Important Task of making sure Ally doesn't, like, go into shock and/ or die, the curly-haired girl heads out to get rid of the car — somewhere, somehow; Austin doesn't want to know. He wants to protest that there's no way in hell she's going to die that easily; she's too damn stubborn for that.

Instead, he helps Ally up from where she's lying quietly on the comforter and makes her sit on the bathroom counter and move her jacket so he can see the wound. She protests at first, which is strangely unlike her, but eventually gives in, lifting the fabric with trembling fingers and bunching it just below her chest.

Austin hates that he knows what she needs — he leaves and returns a moment later with her carton of cigarettes and lighter. He thinks he sees her smile, but he can't be sure.

The thing is, well. Austin has done stuff with girls before. He's kissed girls, he's felt their silky skin beneath the pads of his fingertips, he's brushed their hair out of their eyes and whispered sweet nothings to them with his lips grazing against the column of their throats, but. Nothing in his entire life has ever felt as completely erotic and unchaste as this as he slowly reaches to hold the cigarette to her full pink lips and lights her up, her eyes huge and doe-like as he does so, swallowing him up completely and totally.

This time, he doesn't look away.

He doesn't kiss her. She doesn't kiss him. They stare at each other for what feels like hours and may very well be, eyes swallowing one another up, the only sound their slightly ragged, unsure breathing. She exhales smoke. He finally closes his eyes, inhales. Cigarettes and cinnamon and ocean water. _Ally._

He has never seen somebody fully — well, mostly — clothed so naked, so completely vulnerable_. _

Austin wants to kiss her. He'd really, really like to kiss her and pin her against the mirror and trail his fingers under her skirt, hand between her thighs and sucking bruises on the pale skin of her neck, but, well. He's got more important things to do right. Slowly peeling his gaze away from her face, he reaches to inspect the wound. He may or may not touch the soft skin of her hip more than necessary, but Ally doesn't complain. His fingers trace the sharp, angular ridge of her hipbone. Something deep inside him aches faintly, because this is all so fucked up it feels almost unreal.

The wound is, in all honesty, not too bad — it's stopped bleeding for the most part and it truly appears that the bullet only grazed the outermost layers of her skin. Gently, he presses a damp hand towel to it. A soft sign of pain escapes her lips, but nothing else.

Next time, Austin realizes in a burst of painful clarity, she may not be so lucky.

"Hurts," Ally whispers, taking an impossibly long drag and pressing her face into his shoulder, undoubtedly smearing wet mascara all over his white cotton shirt. He eases up on the pressure, free hand finding its way to her back, absently stroking up and down the her rocky spine.

"Well, um. I'm not saying it was cool if them to do this, but, uh. Well. You were robbing them." Austin's voice comes out softer than he expected; not brittle and sarcastic in the slightest. He sounds a little like a parent explain a blubbering child's wrongdoing to them.

Ally laughs, but her eyes are dark. "That's what I like about you, Austin. You always speak the truth, even if it hurts."

A long beat of silence. Then two. Then — "So, are we gonna be okay?"

She says nothing, but she passes him the cigarette she's been nursing for the past ten minutes — he takes a short drag just to humor her — and, yeah. They're gonna be okay.

* * *

The time is 3:58 am. It is 76 degrees in Haines City, Florida. They are sitting on the curb just outside their motel room, Ally with a cigarette dangling precariously from her lips whilst she watches Austin have a pebble-throwing contest with himself. He offers to leave her alone for a little bit, but she declined his offer immediately.

"Don't you ever get tired of, you know, being around people all the time? Don't you ever want to just take a walk or something and just be by yourself, clear your head a bit?"

Ally laughs dryly. "Head is not my home."

Despite being less angry than she was earlier, she is jittery. Austin can tell; her knee is bouncing up and down like a jackhammer and she goes through nearly her entire carton of cigarettes within an hour. She tries to ignore the way her hands shake.

"Did Elliott get you hooked on coke?" Austin asks, immediately feeling guilt overtake him for overstepping a boundary such as this one.

Ally seems to find that hilarious, though. "No, that ship sailed long before I met Elliott. And hey! I am not hooked on coke, Austin," Ally answers honestly, narrowing her eyes at him. "I can stop anytime I want to. I just don't want to, is the thing."

Austin frowns. "Then how did it start?"

"My mom was a little messed up. Well, more than a little messed up. But the mind tends to romanticize things you've left behind so alas, I like to think of her as only a wee bit fucked up."

"What kind of fucked up?"

"Uh, well, she was kind of a drug addict, you see -"

"But you're a drug addict," Austin says, cutting her off. He is remorseful, but it needed to be said.

"I am not a drug addict, Austin," she snaps defensively. "I just frequently entertain myself with illegal substances." She's not even kidding, and that's the saddest part of all, really.

"Anyway!" Ally continues, slapping her legs dramatically. "She was a huge heroine addict. Apparently she was really into it in high school but her parents sent her to rehab during her senior year, and she was okay for a while and then my dad left us when I was ten and, well. She got really bad again. She was always parading all these men through our house, just one after the other night after night, and even when she settled down with this one guy, Rob, I'm sure it was only because he was her dealer and at that point it was so bad she needed a fix 24/7." Ally shivers suddenly despite the warm air, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"Alright," Austin says quietly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as his brain struggles to process this information.

"When I die, whether it be today or tomorrow or a year from now or ten years from now, I don't want people to look back on my life and say, _What a shame, she ruined her entire life and future,_ because I haven't. I want them to say_, wow, she really did it, didn't she? She _lived."

Austin blinks. He didn't really ask about that, but, okay.

"I don't want to end up like my mom," she says quietly, sensing his confusion.

"I'm sure you're nothing like her." It's not what he wants to say, but he's not sure how else to deal with this sudden turn of events.

"I am, though. I'm not a good person," she whispers suddenly, huge brown eyes glistening. "I'm a freak show, Austin. I'm a fucking circus act, don't you understand? People looked at me, even before all this," she pauses to gesture around vaguely, "like _oh, there's the girl you're grateful your daughter never ended up being friends with_. Or, _oh, look at her, what a mess she is, doing all this crazy shit while she should be in school and going to prom and doing sports_. They hate me, but they pity me. I don't want them to pity me."

Austin shifts, uncomfortable — he is unaccustomed to dealing with wanted criminals in the midst of borderline psychotic episodes or mental breakdowns or whatever the fuck this is.

"Oh, god," she chokes out a watery laugh. "What the hell is wrong with me?

"I'm, like. Corrupting you." Her whole body is trembling with the weight of her words, and Austin gets the distinct feeling she hasn't allowed herself to cry in front of anybody until now. He moves cautiously to wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders but she just shrugs him off, pressing her tiny, shaking hand into his. Something papery brushes his palm. "Here," she whispers, pressing the money into his hand. "There's a bus stop just a couple blocks down and a payphone around the corner, I think. Go call your mom or something. Or the police. I don't care. Just go home. I'm sorry I dragged you all the way out here. You don't belong here, Austin."

His mind goes blank and he fumbles around for words. "But I -"

"Please just go. I'm fucking toxic, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She won't even look at him now, so he gathers her up in his arms and she doesn't exactly welcome his touch but she doesn't push him away either, and that's good enough for him.

He holds her like that for a little while as her cries become whimpers, and then, silence. The cigarette she was smoking is lying on the damp asphalt, forgotten. And for a little while it is quiet.

Wiping her eyes, Ally gently tugs away from his grip and straightens up, pressing the wad of dollar bills into his hand, more insistently this time.

"Please go," she whispers. Austin wants to cry himself as he accepts the money with a heavy heart, dragging her up into a standing position with him and pulling her into his embrace. He wishes so badly he could pull her straight into him, keep her little spindly form safe inside his ribcage. Ally's arms hang limply by her sides for a moment before they reach around to clutch at him, little fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodbye, Austin," she says quietly as she pulls away, stepping back as if she needs to get as far away as possible. There is a smile on her face but her eyes are so, so sad. Before Austin can do or say anything else Ally is turning and jogging back to the room, sliding the room key through and sliding in, slamming the door shut behind her.

Austin pretends he can't hear her crying before she's even got the door completely shut, because it's easier that way.

The gravel crunches under his feet as he rounds the corner, and the payphone is exactly where Ally had promised it would be. First, he ducks into the motel office. The fluorescent lights are too bright and harsh on his stinging eyes. An oddly-bearded man is sitting behind the desk, feet propped up as he peers at the newspaper through a tiny pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Excuse me," Austin clears his throat. His voice is so quiet it startles even himself.

The man behind the desk says nothing, simply peering up at him and looking fairly annoyed.

"I'm, um. I'm really sorry to bother you at this hour, but do you have a bus schedule or something I can look at?"

"Leaving so soon?" The man's voice comes out tinny, like he hasn't spoken in a while. Before letting Austin respond, he stands slowly and fishes out a brochure that reads FLORIDA EXPRESS BUS SCHEDULE from a stack behind his desk.

Ausrin tries to be patient, tapping his foot against the linoleum. "Guess so. Thank you." He gets an uneasy feeling from the motel owner, so he takes the flier with unsure fingers and rushes outside, leaning against the old brick wall as glancing at the schedule. Once he gets to Tampa, he figures he can take a bus straight to Miami (the brochure helpfully mentions that the Tampa — Miami trip is the most popular.)

Back to Miami. Back to his mother, and Dez, and school and The Waffle House and home. _Home._ Home, where he is safe and loved and comfortable but home, where he is confined and trapped and restless and itching. Going back home means going back to routine.

Two hours ago, he would've gotten down on his knees and begged to have routine back in his life.

(He remembers her words from the car just yesterday, when he had asked, "So why did you choose me?"

_"Because I think you're special, too."_)

Something twists sharply in his gut, and his feet carry him over to the payphone. He has a call to make.

His hands are shaking as he feeds the quarters into the slot and punches in the familiar numbers. Closing his eyes, he rests his head against the wall as he waits for somebody to pick up on the other end.

_"Yo__u've reached Mariah Moon. If you have any information about my son, Austin Moon's, disappearance, any information at all, please leave a message. Thank you."_

Hearing her voice makes him feel like he's already halfway home, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat as he sinks to his knees, still clutching the reciever in one white-knuckled hand.

The line beeps, signaling the start of the message recording.

"Hi, mom," Austin whispers. The sound of her voice, strained and desperate, in her voicemail was enough to put and keep his stomach in coils. Clearing his throat, he continues, "It's me. I know you've called the police by now but in the unlikely event that you haven't, don't." His voice cracks and he pinches the bridge of his nose as feels tears prickling the corners of his eyes. Another shuddering breath. "I'm okay, mom. Everything is okay." His stomach twists and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, determined to get through the message. Another deep breath.

"I just can't come back. I'm so sorry. I love you, though. I love you so much, mom."

Austin kind of feels like the most selfish person in the world, but there's no turning back now.

Breathing deeply and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he turns on his heel and marches around the corner, back to the motel room — and Ally.

* * *

end part three

* * *

i almost made myself cry writing that oops. does that sound pretentious? it sounds kind of pretentious. i promise i meant it in the least pretentious way possible. lol i always get so nervous posting new chapters/fics in general because i feel like i never meet up to the standards i set for myself and i really don't want to let you guys down ugh why is anxiety a thing

**thank you guys so incredibly much for your continued support — love love love times a million to every single one of you. x please drop me a review and tell me what you think? **


	4. iv: bandits

**notes:** i profusely apologize that this took slightly longer than normal — i've gotten called into work to cover people's shifts SO MANY TIMES but i'm not complaining bc more money for me hehehe. but anyway usually i do my writing at night so when i get called in to work from like 5-11 pm it kind of throws me off. i hope the events of this chapter will make up for it, though. you guys are all kind of ridiculously awesome.

**warnings:** more drugs, much more crime, blah blah blahhh the rating for this is definitely gonna change to m in the next chapter for various reasons xo

* * *

dressed in black from head to toe/ we've got guns hidden under our petticoats/ no, we're never gonna quit it — chocolate, the 1975

* * *

part four: bandits

* * *

It's kind of entertaining, really, the range of emotions that flit cross Ally's face within the first ten seconds of her opening the door for Austin after he's called his mother. First, there is sadness. Then, confusion, brow furrowing. And then her eyes widen and she looks like she's about to faint but instead, she screams and tackles him, a quiet _oof_ escaping his lips as his back hits the pavement, but he's okay. Everything is gonna be okay.

"Oh, my god! You're staying? Is...is that was this is! Oh, my god, oh my god!" she's squealing, burying her face - still wet with tears - into the crook of his neck. "Austin, oh my gosh. Oh my god. Are you...are you sure about this?"

Austin just wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight like he never wants to let her go. "Yeah, Ally," he whispers, pulling her close and rolling so they can sit up, because the ground is kind of gross. "I'm sure." He can't trust himself to say anything else because honestly, he isn't sure and there's no turning back now and fuck, fuck, fuck.

Ally's smile that blossoms as a result of those words could light up all of Florida.

"I'm really tired, though," he murmurs, pushing a stray strand of Ally's hair out of her face affectionately. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Yes! Yes, of course. Oh my gosh." She's clearly still in shock, tracks of mascara smeared all over her cheeks, eyes wide in disbelief. Austin thinks she still might be crying.

He can't believe this. He is in the middle of a town nobody knows about with a girl everybody knows about, and she's not a maniac like they think she is — well, she kind of is, actually, but she's a person, too, and with every day that passes she becomes both more and less of an enigma to him. Ally is a real, tangible person with wants and desires and fears and hopes and everything in between, and it is now that Austin realizes the media can never be completely accurate because they never, ever described Ally as anything but a "teenage rogue with a troubled history." She isn't just that, though. She is a giggling, capricious child and a reckless criminal and a million things in between. She is the sun and the stars and the sea, tumbling and crashing over itself repeatedly and she is fire, burning white hot and destroying everything around her.

And with that, she tugs him excitedly by the wrist and drags him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them and squealing with delight.

* * *

Austin wakes up the next morning to Ally pouncing on him, giggling like a child.

"Ally!" He hears Trish yell from the bathroom. "Stop fucking attacking the poor kid, he just made a life-changing decision! Give him some space, for christ's sake!"

Ally just rolls her eyes and crawls to sit at the edge of the pull-out couch Austin slept like a rock on last night. Now that he's fully coherent, he can't believe this. He can't believe he's agreed to stay and, as a result of that agreement, probably assist them in their illegal matters. He is terrified and giddy and a million things at once. Mostly, though, there is an overwhelming sense of relief — no more waiting around for answers on when he gets to go home, because now he isn't going home. Oh, god. Fuck. Just the thought sends a hot arrow of panic and guilt down his spine.

What is his mother going to do without him? If she ever finds out who he's about to become, the things he's about to do, the people he's with — he's never believed in people dying from a broken heart until now.

Panic seizes his heart and he breathes deeply, trying to relax. Ally notices, because she notices everything.

"Hey," she says gently, in a tone that sounds less like her and more like a mother attempting to console her crying child. "What's going on?"

Austin pulls himself together, straightening his posture and breathing in deep one more time before he smiles at her. "Nothing." Ally's eyebrows flick up skeptically. "Really," he says reassuringly, "I'm good."

He only lets the corners of his mouth falter once Ally has looked away, because he's come to realize shes got enough shit to deal with without worrying about him. He raises his eyes to the cracked, stained ceiling. Austin does not pray. He has never believed in God, per se; he's too much of a skeptic for that.

But god, he prays he's made the right choice.

* * *

"I want to take you out to dinner," Austin tells Ally that evening. They're all piled in a new car - that Trish apparently bought for two grand from a sketchy old guy a few blocks from the motel - an old, faded blue pickup truck, heading towards god knows where to find somewhere else to stay, and Ally is in his lap. Austin wonders how long it's been since somebody properly took her out. Hell, he wonders if anyone has _ever_ properly taken her out. She seems to be completely unfamiliar with most affectionate gestures. Maybe Elliott took her out on a few dates while they were still in Miami, but Austin shudders when he thinks about what they did on those dates.

"How romantic of you." Ally's voice is back to its cool, unimpressed drawl, but the corners of her lips quirk up, hinting at a smile.

Trish looks over at them and exhales microscopically. Her eyes are, well. Not sad exactly, but something close to that. Longing, maybe. Austin feels a tide of remorse wash over him, and he wonders why he even mentioned it in front of Trish. He might be the biggest idiot in the world.

"Trish, I'd love if you came too if y-" he starts, but Trish just waves her free hand dismissedly.

"Save it," she tells him, a little less bitterly than Austin was expecting. "I appreciate the pity invite, but let's be honest here. You two lovebirds do what you want." Austin thinks maybe she's mad, but she cracks the faintest of smiles as she finishes speaking.

"Okay," he says, grinning. God, Trish is the best. "Okay." His stomach rumbles, demanding feed me, feed me. "So," he says after a few moments of silence, looking at Ally, who in turns swivels in his lap to face him, eyes bright. "Are there any pancake places nearby?"

* * *

After finding a suitable motel just off the highway in Edgewood (Ally had begged and pleaded Trish to stop when she saw the exit for Olando, to which Trish responded by stepping on the gas even more. "I'm not taking care of your immature asses while you run around Disney World like a couple of overenthusiastic toddlers. Maybe one day once I've gone properly fucking crazy I will, but today is not that day. Sorry to burst your bubble."), Austin and Ally walk down to a little diner a few blocks away appropriately named The Pancake House — it makes him nostalgic for Dez and Saturday mornings at The Waffle House, but only a little.

The hostess who shows them to their table takes several double takes, glancing at them from the corner of her eye even after she's walked away to help the folks a few booths down.

"She recognizes us," Austin whispers sharply under his breath, lump rising in his throat. "Or you, anyway."

Ally just smiles and brushes it off. "It's fine. Just be cool. By freaking out you're just drawing more attention to us."

So Austin tries to relax and orders a stack of blueberry pancakes. Ally gets chocolate chip with bananas. She lets out an almost embarrassingly sensual moan as she takes the first bite. "Oh my god. This might be the best thing I've ever eaten in my entire life."

"I know, right?" Austin grins goofily, taking a stab at his pancakes and closing his eyes as he takes a bite. Yep, pancakes never disappoint.

Ally demolishes her plate in under twenty minutes, which is impressive _and_ admirable in Austin's book. She then waves the suspicious waitress over and requests a beer.

The waitress, who has the reddest hair Austin has ever seen and whose name tag reads Bethany, narrows her eyes at Ally. "Minors can't get alcohol here," she says, voice dripping with acid, "Or, like, anywhere."

Ally's smile is sinfully sweet as she whips out her fake ID with a flourish. "I appreciate your respect for the law, but I'm not a minor." The waitress' eyes flick from the card to Ally and then back to the card, then to Austin and finally rest skeptically back on Ally.

"I'll have that right out for you," she says before handing Ally's card back to her and hurrying away.

Ally sits back, grinning victoriously. Austin just shakes his head, laughing in disbelief.

"If you could eat only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

Ally snorts, wiping her mouth with her napkin before responding. "Don't laugh," she says.

Austin crinkles his nose, expecting the worst, something like giraffe brains or broccoli, when Ally says, "Pickles."

"Oh, my god." Austin covers his mouth, on the verge of laughing. "Is that, like, a sex thing? Are you coming on to me?"

Ally looks horrified. "No! Oh my god, shut up, I was being serious, you ass." She frowns and slumps down in the booth, crossing her arms. "Anyway, what about you?"

"Pancakes. Duh." Austin grins. "If you could meet anyone in the world, dead or alive, who would you meet?"

"Three way tie between Elvis, Sinatra and Johnny Cash," Ally answers without missing a beat. "How about you?"

"My dad," he says before he can stop himself. Ally frowns, so Austin gives her a brief rundown. "He was a construction worker, and he was killed in a really bad accident at work when I was like, two. So I never really got to meet him, but I wish I could've, because my mom always says he was a really great guy." He smiles sadly. "She's still completely in love with him. She says she'll never get remarried, but I'm not sure. You've got to get sick of being alone at some point, right?" His stomach churns suddenly and panic grips his senses. What is his mother going to do without him? Who does she have left? Nobody. He's going to throw up.

Austin excuses himself to go to the restroom then, body wracked with dry heaves as nothing comes up and then he stares at himself in the mirror for a while because wow, being on the road for three whole days really changes you. He might even start growing facial hair soon. Ha.

There is something in his eyes that's different, though — like all the pent up energy and restlessness that he's kept harbored for so long has finally cracked the dam and come spilling out.

He spots Ally doodling something on one of the paper napkins with a pen, biting her lip in concentration and legs swinging like a child as he emerges shakily from the restroom, but once she sees him she quickly folds it over and tucks it away under the napkin dispenser.

"I'm really sorry about your dad," Ally says quietly as he sits back down across from her. She won't meet his eyes, and her features are marred with the same guilt he saw last night.

"It's okay," Austin says honestly, because it totally is, mostly. "Don't feel bad."

"It's cool, though, I guess, that he was a good guy and all. My dad was kind of an asshole. I mean, he was great with me, always calling me his little princess and playing dolls with me and stuff like that, but he and my mom were awful together. They fought all the time and I caught him hitting her once or twice, but I'm sure it happened more often than that." Ally exhales softly. "Anyway, he left when I was ten and then my mom, like I said, paraded douchebags through our house for years until she finally settled down and married her longtime dealer, this complete dick named Rob." She wraps her arms around herself. "_Fuck_ him," she seethes, and downs her beer in two long gulps before ordering another.

Before she can move on to a third, Austin suggests they leave. He's been trained by his mother since birth to always pick up after himself, so as he clears the table of their used napkins and hands their trays to the gratefully stunned waitress while Ally waits outside to smoke, he happens across a final napkin hiding beneath the dispenser.

The napkin is stained with coffee spots and gooey syrup, and it's so gross he's about to throw it out when he catches a glimpse of someone's messy scrawl on the inside of it. Unfolding the napkin curiously, he reads, in what he can only assume is Ally's untidy handwriting, _Coke makes me numb and the bottles make me forget, but he helps me forget too and he makes my heart clench and twist and roll over on itself and he's the only drug I think I will ever need._

And, below that:

_still love coke though._

He thinks it's the closest they're ever going to get to a love letter. And that is, in all honesty, more than enough.

* * *

The next day, it is a balmy 86 degrees in Edgewood. The air is still and quiet. Ally stands before Austin, an arm's length away, eyeing him cautiously.

"Are you sure you're okay with doing this?"

"Not really," he answers honestly. "But I'm gonna do it anyway."

Ally smiles at him, and for the first time it's a real smile — there is no flirtation, sorrow, or falsity behind it. It's a genuine, happy girl smile and he wonders if one day he will be able to take her away from all of this and take her far, far away, wherever she wants to go, and she'll smile just like this all the time.

She stands on her tiptoes and whips out a black bandana from behind her back, reaching around his neck to tie it with clumsy fingers

"I pray this isn't also your dead boyfriend's," he mumbles through the fabric, raising his eyebrows questioningly. God, he really, really hopes this isn't Elliott's. He might actually start crying if it is. Ally giggles and shakes her head. Thank god.

Austin isn't sure if this is what love is supposed to feel like. Whatever this is, he thinks he might never want to feel any other way for as long as he lives.

Ally smiles again, turns to snuff a line she's set out for herself on the nightstand, and hands him her gun.

* * *

Approximatelt three minutes away from their destination, Austin panics, because really, what the fuck is he doing? Is the car spinning? Because it feels like the car is spinning. Suddenly, Ally's cool fingers are brushing his arm.

"You are the best person I have ever known," she whispers, squeezing his fingers.

Trish clears her throat loudly from the front seat. "Cool. Thanks, Ally. Fuck you, too." Ally cringes apologetically, but before she can get any words out Trish is giving her the middle finger, which just about signals that this conversation is over for now. As they approach their destination, an old Shell gas station in the middle of wide stretches of nothingness, Ally gets up and crawls behind the front seat, arms wrapping around to hug Trish from behind. Trish nearly crashes the damn car, yelling, "Holy fucking shit, don't scare me like that!"

Ally just laughs, patting the girl's curly hair affectionately. "You know you mean the world to me, right, Trish?"

Trish can only hold her glare for a few seconds before it dissipates into a look of fondness, as if she can't quite help herself. "Damn right I am," she quips.

Before he can get out, though, Trish is grabbing his arm.

"I don't know what the fuck it is about you," she whispers, looking at Ally, who has already hopped out, "but she's different around you. It's fucking weird." And then, finally, "Keep up the good work, Moon."

And then she's releasing his arm and Austin is stumbling out of the car into the bright sunshine, heart racing and lump in his throat and adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he trots right behind Ally, black bandana covering his mouth and nose and gun tucked into his belt, hidden under his jacket.

* * *

The only words Austin can remember at the moment are _fuck_ and _holy shit_.

They're inside, and the AC is blasting cool air all over his face and it feels really awesome, and he's holding a gun to the cashier's head. He couldn't shoot if his life depended on it.

It is without a doubt the most hack job on earth, as far as robberies go. He's pretty sure he even started laughing at some point, because this can't be real. Fuck. Ally is laughing, too, as she empties the money from the cash register into her bag because they're both a fucking mess and it's so fucking bad that the cashier would probably make a run for it or knock them out or both if he didn't have a fully loaded gun pressed to his temple.

After she's collected the money, Ally sprints to the back of the gas station, tripping over something and thus laughing even harder, and grabs what Austin can only assume is liquor before heading towards the front door. "Come on!" She shrieks impatiently, still giddy, and Austin blurts, "Oh my god, I am so sorry for all of this, fuck. Sorry, have a nice day!" to the terrified cashier before booking it out of there.

He dives in through the open door and lands smack on top of Ally, and the car starts moving before he's even fully in, tires screeching on the asphalt and Ally's screaming, "Close the door! Oh my god, close the fucking door!" through her tears of laughter.

It takes another minute for Austin to get the door closed, and then another two for them to sort themselves out and get untangled, and another fifteen to stop laughing hysterically. Austin has a feeling they're both laughing for very different reasons, but it's okay.

If there was dirt on the road, dust would be flying behind them, they're going so fast. Trish hasn't eased up on the gas once since they got back in the car. In fact, she keeps up the speed for another twenty minutes or so, and even then she doesn't stop the car until they pass a sign that reads 'WELCOME TO ST. AUGUSTINE, FOUNDED 1565.'

"Youre kind of bad at this," Ally laughs, breaking the silence wiping her eyes.

"I know. I sucked."

"It's okay. You'll get better." She says it like they're discussing sports or math or writing instead of armed robbery. He's used to her indifferent nature at this point, though.

"Okay." Austin nods once, and then cracks open one of their bottles of Jack Daniels, because he's going to need it.

"Hey, guys," Ally whispers suddenly, eyes widening.

"Yeah?" Austin and Trish answers almost synonymously.

"I wanna go see a movie. Let's go to the movies."

Trish snorts and rolls her eyes, muttering, "Girl literally always gets what she wants," before asking Austin to please use Ally's phone to look up some nearby movie theaters.

* * *

"Is it really safe for us to be going out in public after what we just did?"

"Absolutely not."

"Okay. Cool."

They all agree to see a terrible-looking action film, because why not let the adrenaline rush continue? The place is mostly empty save for a few groups of teenagers and mothers with young children — it is dinner time now, and the place will undoubtedly be packed by the time their movie ends in a couple of hours.

They wind up being the only three seeing the movie at this time, so they have their pick of the litter in regard to seats. They sit dead center, all finally exhaling the breath they've been holding since they left the gas station.

The movie is, as they'd predicted, total garbage. The special effects are nice, but forty five minutes in and there is still no plot to be found and Ally is dozing on Austin's shoulder. He plays with her hair. Trish yawns obnoxiously and excuses herself to go to the restroom.

Ally shifts in her seat just then, turning to face Austin head on then, and his heart is beating so fast he's surprised it hasn't exploded yet. She moves closer, unsure.

Ally's eyes are huge and glittering and she looks very much like a beautiful Bambi in this moment, and he would laugh except he's moving closer, too, and their faces are centimeters apart like some awful romantic film and then all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears as the sounds of the movie die out to make way for the birth of a kiss.

* * *

end part four

* * *

YAAAAAAAAS.

anywho, this is actually probably going to be either one very long chapter or two shorter ones and then an epilogue. be prepared for major shit to go down, because i'm a fucking bitch lol.

leave me a review and let me know what you think? and thank you guys so much for the support, every little comment literally means the world to me. you're all wonderful sweet little souls, and i love every single one of you.


	5. v: repercussions

**notes: **fun fact: whilst writing the smut for this chapter a cricket crawled onto my leg and upon discovering it i proceeded to scream like a motherfucker and thrash around wildly for about two years bc i am actually a child in the body of a seventeen year old girl.

**warnings:** smutty smut smut (your feedback and suggestions mean the world to me but i wanted smut and i'm gonna do smut), physical and sexual violence/assault, abuse of drugs and alcohol.

* * *

i said it's been a long time/ since someone looked at me that way/ it's like you knew me/ and all the things i couldn't say — together, the xx

* * *

part v: repercussions

* * *

Ally tastes like peaches and cinnamon and booze. The feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the sounds she makes are going to be burned into Austin's brain for a long, long time — really, he thinks, there are much worse things that could happen.

He kicks the motel door shut with a surpising amount of strength, pinning her back against it. He hears someone laugh from outside and rolls his eyes. Trish. Major points to her for scoring them an extra room last minute, though. He moves to mouth at Ally's neck, biting and sucking at the pale skin there; feeling possessive, he wants the whole world to know she's his and nobody else's, and if they want to get to her they're going to have to go through him.

His fingers travel beneath Ally's silky black skirt, up her thigh to brush across the thin fabric of her panties and she's already wet, mewling quietly and tugging at his shirt, his arms, his neck, anything she can get her hands on. It turns Austin on more than he'd care to admit.

He presses a gentle kiss to her sternum, her chest bones almost obscene in the stream of moonlight coming in through a crack in the blinds as his lips travel downward, mouthing at her stomach through the thin cotton of her blue tee shirt. His eyes are wide as he gazes at her, waiting for permission, for something, and she just fists her hands in his hair almost too roughly and begs him, "Please, Austin, _please_." So he lowers his head even more, hiking up her skirt and grasping the lacy band of her panties, pulling them down and they pool at her ankles. His tongue swipes across her and her thighs tremble as she struggles to remain standing. Austin grins impishly, reveling in being in the position to tease her, instead.

He licks another stripe upwards towards her navel and she growls, "I swear I'm going to kill you."

That just makes him lap faster at her, and Ally's fingers twist tighter in his hair, and she lets out what is less of a scream and more of a squeal as she lets go, thighs trembling on both sides of his face. She grabs at his shirt and tugs his upwards, eyes smudgy with pleasure and giggling as she pats his wet cheeks. Feeling brave, Austin licks his lips and kisses her again.

Instead of whimpering and tilting her head back submissively, Ally nips at his neck, eyes burning and he grins. "That's my girl," he whispers, and helps her pull off her shirt. His hands brush along her skin, moving down to her hips to pull down her skirt, and there, he spots it. On her left hip, so faint he can barely make them out — two nearly identical scars, jagged and uneven, breaking up her smooth, milky complexion. And there's another one, higher up, right over her ribs. He frowns, fingers grazing them gently as if he's afraid they're still going to hurt. Ally just grabs his fingers from where they rest on the scar and moves them up to her chest, kissing him furiously.

"No fair," she hisses in between heated kisses. "Here I am, fully naked and you haven't even taken off your shirt, you jackass." Austin smiles sheepishly and pulls his mouth away from her plump pink ones for a moment to yank off his shirt, and it's not even over his head before Ally's tiny, shaking hands are fumbling with his belt.

They stumble backwards and Ally's shins hit the bed frame. She falls gracelessly onto the bed, hair fanning out around her like a halo, and fuck, she's so beautiful. It takes every bit of self restraint he has to not attempt to rip off his jeans like Magic Mike or something. Most likely it would just result in utter humiliation, which would lead to Ally laughing her ass off and also the moment would be ruined, and he's _so_ not down for that right now.

So Austin carefully - very, very carefully - steps out of his jeans and then joins her on the bed, and he thinks it's good he hasn't kissed her since tonight because he feels so overwhelmed he thinks he'll never be able to stop kissing her. He's not sure he wants to, anyway. Ally reaches down and squeezes at him through his boxers and _fuck_, nope, he never ever wants to stop kissing her ever. And then her hands are at his waistband and there are no layers between them and he can't believe this is happening now.

Ally's thighs are wet and she's trembling beneath him. He presses another light kiss to her mouth before pushing into her, and his vision goes white for a minute like he's been staring straight into the sun as he's enveloped in tight, velvety heat. He's brought back by the feeling of wetness on his shoulder.

She cries into his shoulder, and at first he thinks he might be hurting her but then he remembers who the fuck she is and there's also the fact that she's she's whimpering, "More, more, more." The blunt edges of her nails dig into his flesh, undoubtedly leaving crescent marks like the purpled half moons beneath her eyes.

"As you wish," he kids, attaching their mouths again as he pulls out a bit, only to thrust inside even harder. Ally gasps, hands scrabbling at his back and finally coming to grip the back of his neck. He mouths at her breast, tongue darting out to trace over her nipple and her fingernails dig even further into his neck; he wonders if he's bleeding, and a sick part of him hopes he is. He wants her to leave marks, wants traces of this moment pressed into his skin forever and ever.

"Bet Dallas never made you feel like this," Austin growls, biting at her earlobe. The words surprise even him — he is, for the most part, not that kind of person. Ally just moans and arches up into him even more, their bare chests pressed flush against each other. She is so beautiful, coming apart beneath him, and he lets go, unable to help himself. It has suddenly become almost impossible to hold himself up, arms quivering as pleasure washes over him.

Ally follows a few moments later with Austin's fingers pinching her clit, and she cries out his name as she comes, mascara tracks on her cheeks and he pulls her close.

The only sound now is their labored breathing as Austin collapses next to her, grin almost embarrassingly huge. "You're beautiful," he tells her.

"That's cute. You're quite the looker yourself." Ally smirks before gesturing to something over on the nightstand. "Be a dear and get me a cigarette?"

Austin complies, crawling over to the edge of the bed, grabbing the carton and her red lighter, and handing them to her.

"You look happy," she notes quietly, still a little out of breath as she holds the cigarette to her lips and lights up, breathing in deeply and exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Are you saying you're not?"

Ally purses her lips and cracks a tiny smile, eyes lighting up fiendishly. "I am happy. I really, really am." And then she leans over and kisses him full on the mouth, mumbling, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

And then for a little while it is quiet.

* * *

"Woah-ho-ho, looks like someone got laid last night!"

Austin blinks sleepily, curling up tighter under the covers because he's still naked and the room is kind of cold. Trish is standing at his bedside, dark brows raised in amusement. "You two are perfect for each other," she says. "You're both fucking crazy."

Wrapping the covers tighter around himself, Austin sits up, glaring at the curly-haired girl before cracking a goofy, lopsided smile. "Good morning to you, too, Trish." His gaze shifts to where Ally is, standing before the mirror and tying up her hair.

She's wrapped up in the sheets, blankets trailing behind her like the train of a wedding gown or a queen's robe as she takes another drag of her cigarette. It's about as elegant as somebody like her is ever going to get.

"So I'm gonna go back to my room and figure out what we need to do about this car," Trish says, snapping him out of his reverie. "You guys should put on some clothes or something. Do something productive other than having really loud sex. These walls are, like, paper thin." Austin's face heats up, tips of his ears reddening.

"Sorry, Trish," he mumbles, mortified.

After Trish goes, leaving a plastic shopping bag behind on the desk, Ally doesn't say much, just flops down next to Austin on the bed and smiles. "So," she says, smiling. "Breakfast?" She reaches down and grabs a box of Fruit Loops from the bag Trish left behind.

And, yeah. It's gonna be a good day.

* * *

"We're going to have to get dressed eventually, you know."

Austin just pouts and continues playing with her hair, threading his pale fingers through long, dark waves. His belly is full of Froot Loops and they're watching morning cartoons on the television and there's a naked, beautiful girl in bed with him. It's nice.

"I need to shower first," Ally says, tugging at his fingers playfully to get him to release her hair. "Care to join me?"

Austin laughs, because, well, seriously? Also kinda hell yes, but. "I dunno, Ally. Do you ask all of your romantic conquests to shower with you? Is that what this is? Am I just a pawn in this came of yours?" He fake weeps, draping a hand dramatically over his eyes.

"If you're gonna be stupid about it I'll just lock the door behind me."

"Fine. I'll come."

"That's what she said."

"Fuck you."

"That's why you're showering with me, stupid."

Austin just laughs, shaking his head with something that feels like happiness bubbling in his chest.

* * *

After a very, very steamy shower that includes more kissing than it does actual washing, Ally kicks Austin out of the bathroom so she can actually, like, shower. She exits thirty minutes later, dressed in ripped white shorts and tight black shorts and her black ankle boots, her wet dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. Austin doesn't think he will ever get tired of looking at her.

"Stop gawking and take a shower, stupid," Ally says playfully, but she crouches down to kiss him full on the mouth first before patting him on the back and sending him on his way.

Austin revels in the feeling of the cool water on his warm skin, even if the shower is kind of gross. Nobody really expected motel showers to be nice, though. He's seen _Psycho_. And he certainly doesn't plan on becoming the next Marion Crane.

He chuckles to himself. That's actually kind of funny. Austin emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, fully prepared to tell Ally this terribly morbid but hilarious joke because he thinks she'll probably appreciate it. He stops dead in his tracks, though, when he sees her perched on the edge of the bed, spine straight as a board and her jaw set tightly, eyes blank as she gazes at something on the tv.

Hurrying over whilst clutching the towel in one hand to preserve his modesty, Austin sits next to her and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder, but Ally just flinches away, so he shifts his gaze to the tv to see what's gotten her so wound up so suddenly.

On screen, the news is blaring with the caption RUNAWAY TEEN ROBBER STRIKES AGAIN FOR FIRST TIME SINCE PARTNER'S WITH NEW ACCOMPLICE scrolling across the screen over and over again.

"Paul Jenkins, the only witness to the crime, describes Dawson's new accomplice to be around six feet in height, Caucasian with blonde hair. Jenkins said the accomplice held him at gunpoint while Dawson ransacked the gas station. The entire exchange, he claims, took about five minutes.

"Here we have video surveillance footage that shows the two teens during the robbery." The reporters speaks quickly, but it feels like she never stops talking, words dripping from her lips in what seems like slow motion. It feels like the person in the video isn't even him — his face isn't very visible, nor is Ally's, but he remembers every moment so vividly that his stomach churns, because that's him.

Austin's blood runs cold.

"Do you think they'll put two and two together?" He whispers, and yeah, those Froot Loops are gonna come up any second now.

Ally doesn't answer, doesn't even glance over at him. Her eyes are still locked on the screen, and he wonders if she's even seeing anything at this point.

"And here we have Ally's mother, Penny Dawson," the report continues, gesturing to a thin, dark-haired woman who is smiling uneasily, "for an exclusive interview. Penny, how do you feel looking at this footage?"

The woman takes a slow, shaky breath before speaking. "I feel...shocked, really. Shocked and sad and mortified, honestly. I mean, it's bad enough having your daughter all over the news for continuously doing this kind of thing, but then dragging even more poor souls into it?" Penny Dawson shakes her head, lowering her eyes to the ground. "It makes me sad. Ally was always such a good girl, growing up. We were so close. I just can't even begin to imagine what happened that caused her to go off the deep end like this." She promptly bursts into tears, covering her face with her weathered hands.

"Thank you so much for your time, Penny. And if anyone has any information about this most recent incident or anything about Ally Dawson or her accomplices, please, call the FDLE immediately." The reports face is grim for a moment, and then, "Up next, we've got a real treat for all you Justin Bieber fans..."

Ally punches the off button on the remote, body trembling. Her face is bright red.

Austin is, in one word, puzzled. Penny Dawson's words echo in his head: ..._such a good girl growing up...we were so close... _

These words do not at all match what Ally has told him about her mother and her home life, not by a long shot. Bewildered, he looks to Ally for clarification. She is crying, angry steams of tears dripping down her face.

"I fucking hate her. I fucking hate her. I hate her so fucking much. _Oh my god. Oh my fucking god_." The last sentence is less of a cry and more of a scream, and then her foot is going through the tv, and, well. _Shit._

"I know it's a snitty motel tv," Austin says calmly as he can, voice still trembling a little because he's never felt frightening around Ally like this before, "But we're still gonna have to pay for that, you know."

Ally disregards his words completely and instead continues muttering to herself. "Fucking stupid bitch. I hope she fucking dies."

Austin's jaw drops at that. "Ally, she's still your mother -"

"No!" She retaliates, abruptly whirling on him, her long ponytail almost hitting her in the face. "Just shut up. She might've given birth to me but she's a terrible fucking person and I hate her with every fiber of my being. She's a shitty human being and a waste of space and I hope she regrets what she's done to me for the rest of her goddamned life."

"Ally!" he breathes sharply, stunned. Austin does not understand how anybody could say such awful things about their own mother.

"Don't you fucking do that," Ally spits, jerking a finger at him. "She's a shitty mother. She's a shitty excuse for a human being, and she's a fucking drugged up crackwhore who can go to hell for all I care." She collapses in on herself, drawling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself like she's trying to hold herself together her except it's a little too late for that.

"I'm not saying she's perfect, or even that she's a good mother," Austin tries again, sitting cross-legged across from Ally. "But I'm sure she really does love and care about you."

Ally looks up at him now with red eyes.

"If she really cared," she says, voice eerily calm, "she wouldn't have brushed me off and called me a liar when I told her the first time that her new husband was coming into my room at night and shoving his down my fucking pajama pants. Or the six times after that."

Austin feels like he's going to be sick. He remembers the scars from last night, vividly, and wonders if there's a correlation. It's even more frightening when he realizes he already knows there is. It seems like every time he thinks he's discovered the extent of Ally's horrible background, she reminds him that there's far worse that he doesn't know about yet.

"The scars -" he chokes out, wanting to reach out and hold her and also to run far, far away.

"We've all got scars," Ally snarls, standing up and holding open the door. Austin thinks she's going to leave but then she's gesturing for _him_ to leave, so he scrambles to his feet, opening his mouth to apologize, but she cuts him off before he's even started. "I used to be better at hiding mine."

And then she's slamming the door shut in his face.

* * *

Austin walks approximately two blocks before stopping at a cluster of trees and promptly vomiting.

It's disgusting and bitter and painful as he stands there, hands on his knees, gasping for air but the thought of a younger, even more vulnerable Ally being taken advantage of by some sick pervert with nobody to talk to, no way to reach out for help or even any reinforcement that what he was doing to her wasn't okay makes Austin want to heave again.

Austin feels significantly worse upon returning to the motel, even after spending a good part of two hours walking aimlessly, breathing deeply with his hands shoved in his pockets in an desperate attempt to clear his head. The sky is grey and the wind is picking up, signaling there is a storm brewing as he shuffles through the parking lot, empty save for their blue pickup. He never believed in weather matching somebody's mood, but this time, it fits.

That's when he hears it — a voice, distinctly female, screaming bloody murder. Trish is heading towards him, nearly tripping over herself in her hurry.

"Austin!" Trish's voice is frantic and loud, cracking in urgency; it is a tone he's never heard from her before. His heart sinks, clenching and unclenching his hands as if it's going to help ease the sudden knot in his belly. "Austin, help! Oh my fucking god, please."

"Trish? Help who? What's going on?" Panic grips Austin's heart, and he's running towards her now, heart pounding and as the thunder crashes like cymbals, his feet thudding against the pavement. He cannot recall another time in his life where he's run so fast.

"It's Dallas! Oh my god, I-I don't know what the fuck is going on, but he showed up and asked for Ally and she was really upset they were talking for a few minutes and they got into a huge fight and he was screaming at her and there was this thud and the door is locked and nobody is answering and I'm scared he's going to hurt her. I don't even fucking know how he found out where we are. Fuck, oh my god. Please, Austin, oh my god, just get her out of there!" She's panting by the time she's finished, but she looks ready to keep going if Austin doesn't start moving soon.

Austin feels like he's going to throw up as he shoves the room key into the lock with trembling fingers. "Is there anyone in the fucking main office?" Trish only shakes her head frantically, looking more frightened than Austin could've ever imagined she'd be capable of.

From inside, he can hear somebody crying and his vision blurs with panic. Austin is not a fighter; never in his life has he been good with confrontation, but all he knows right now is he needs to get to Ally. He twists the handle once, twice, shoving his way into the room and nearly crumpling to the floor at the intensity of Ally's scream.

The sight before him makes him recoil in horror.

Ally is on the bed while Dallas pins her arms above her with one hand, the other clamped firmly over her mouth, pressing his weight down onto her and hissing something in her ear as she squeaks from behind his fingers and kicks frantically to no avail.

"You fucking bitch," Dallas snarls, grinding his hips down harder. "Come on, baby, you owe me. You're practically begging for it." He takes his hand away from her mouth and she gasps frantically.

"I swear, I didn't steal any of it!" she's sobbing, eyes bulging and Austin has never seen her so frightened. "I took what I paid for and that's it, I swear to god!"

When Dallas speaks, shoving his hand farther under her skirt as she yelps in pain, his voice is venomous. "You little fucking slut; you think just because you can get away with fucking robbery means you can get away with stealing from me? You fucking whore."

And then he spits on her.

His eyes are glazed and pupils dilated and before Austin can even process the realization that Dallas isn't just a coke dealer but an addict and probably really, really dangerous, Austin is on his feet and punching him square in the jaw.

It's enough to make Dallas stagger backwards, and Ally immediately wriggles out of his grasp. She tries to stand, wobbling and collapsing onto the carpet like a little deer. It makes Austin's heart ache and the sound of blood rushing in his ears is almost painful.

"Ally," he says calmly, reaching to help her up, "Go and wait with Trish in her room."

"But -"

"_Go_," he insists firmly, nearly shoving her out the door before Dallas can kill them both in his coke-induced rage.

As soon as he's out the door, he turns to Dallas. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He expects Dallas to come charging at him, to strangle him to death to shove his head through the window, but he just shakes his head, smirk on his face as he walks closer.

"You really believe Ally thinks you're special? Oh, my god. That's fucking great. She tells that to everyone, you idiot. She's good at it and she'll chew you up and spit you out without a goddamned warning." Austin shakes his head vehemently, clenching his jaw.

"No. Maybe she treated you like that because you're a fucking tool who got the wrong idea, but not me."

Dallas actually laughs at that. "She's using you, pretty boy. She needed someone to help her out after her precious boyfriend died and you fit the bill, and she tells you you're special but really at the end of the day you're just as disposable as he was. She's a fucking cunt, man, and she plays games. I mean, she fucked me within, what, two days of Elliott getting killed? She's so fucked up."

Austin's blood is positively boiling at this point. He's angry because nobody should be talking about Ally like this, because Dallas is wrong, he has to be, and he hurt Ally, and he's scared because Dallas might actually have a point — up until now, he has felt special, unique, like Ally actually cares about him. What if he really is just a pawn in a game bigger than he can even comprehend?

He punches Dallas again anyway, because fuck this guy. Austin isn't a genius by any means, but he knows what he sees in Ally's eyes and he knows it's genuine.

And before he can process what's happening Dallas' hands are gripping his throat and he's pressed up against the wall and he can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears and his vision blurs and he's so, so fucking scared. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Dallas snorts in his his coke-incited rage. "You and that little slut -" he presses down harder, fingers tightening and Austin is surprised his windpipe hasn't collapse in on itself yet. "You think this is all some kind of fucking game. You don't know jack shit about anything you're dealing with."

Austin wheezes, vision shifting rapidly from red to black to white and he's gonna die, and he's not ready to die, and —

A single gunshot rings out, and then there is silence.

The pressure on his neck disappears and Austin collapses against the wall, sinking to his knees. Somewhere along the way down he sees Ally standing in the doorway, gun held limply in her trembling hands, and he hears her scream. His fingernails dig into his palms as he struggles to take in more air. It feels like his windpipe has been reduced to the size of like, half of a really thin straw. His head is pounding from both panic and lack of oxygen, and then there are hands on his shoulders, his chest, his face. Someone is calling his name, but it sounds so far away.

_Austin, Austin, open your eyes, please, Austin_, the voices are chanting, but Austin just wants to sleep, so that's what he does.

* * *

When he wakes up, it's dark outside and he's in the car, slumped in Ally's lap. She nearly shrieks when he stirs, groaning at the pain in his head.

"Austin!" she whispers, hands on his face, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. It's nice. "Oh my god, oh my god. You're okay. It's okay." Her voice is frantic, and then there's a bottle of water being brought to his lips and it takes some concentration to keep it from spilling down his chin and splashing all over his shirt.

"This is taking a little bit more effort on my part than it should," Austin notes wryly, crinkling his nose. "I think I genuinely might be partially brain dead on account of all that oxygen deprivation."

Ally flicks his ear. "Don't even joke like that."

So, he doesn't. "Where are we going?"

"We have to get away," she whispers suddenly, features overcome with exhaustion and anxiety.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we have to get out of here. Out of Florida."

"What!?" Austin's head spins and he closes his eyes, trying to ease the pain of confusion. "Why?"

Ally's eyes widen and she purses her lips, trembling and staring grimly at him for a long time before speaking again.

"I killed Dallas, Austin."

* * *

They drop Trish off at the bus stop in Jacksonville the next afternoon. She's heading home; maybe she'll even see her family again. It took a lot of convincing and screaming and crying, but Ally managed to convince her that it was time for her to go, that she deserved a life better than shuttling criminals around. Trish had disagreed, but Ally had insisted.

Ally grabs Trish's bag and drops several thick wads of cash into it before handing it back to her friend and wrapping her in a hug. Austin thinks Trish might be crying. Or maybe he's crying. Yeah, he's totally crying. But still.

Trish smiles sadly, and there are definitinely tears in her eyes now. Ally grabs Trish's hand and holds it in hers, squeezing gently. "Thank you so much," she whispers, pulling the curly-haired girl close again and closing her eyes, burying her face in Trish's shoulder. "For everything. I love you so much. You're my real sister, I don't give a shit what anyone else says."

When she pulls back, Trish's eyes are glistening with unshed tears. "On the bright side, at least now I won't have to suffer though listening to you two idiots have sex all night from the other side of a motel wall," she quips, but halfway through a sob bubbles up in her throat and it kind of ruins any chance she had of making either of them believe she's not going to miss them with every fibre of her being.

Ally laughs sadly, choking back a sob as she steps back and Trish turns to face Austin. He expects her to say something mean but she just pulls him into a tight hug; he has to bend down quite a bit to hug her back.

"You take good care of her, okay?" she whispers in his ear. "And don't let her crazy ass talk you into doing anything more stupid than you've already done." Austin chuckles.

"You really aren't so bad after all, you know that? I'm glad I met you, Austin," she tells him as she pulls away, and wow, it's not what he expected her to say but god, it means the world hearing it.

"I'm glad I met you, too," he answers honestly, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket just as the bus pulls up, doors screeching open noisily.

"Wishing you the best, white boy," she laughs sadly, clapping him on the back. "Listen to some Biggie for me, okay?"

Austin just nods, sad smile on his face and he's never been so sad to see somebody go before.

And then she climbs on the bus, waving sadly at them from the window, and as the bus pulls away Austin can tell she's started to cry.

* * *

They stay in another rundown motel that night. In the morning, they will abandon the blue pickup and all traces of Ally Dawson and Austin Moon and take the bus to Tallahassee, where they will board yet another bus that will take them far, far away. All the way to Oklahoma.

Austin is pondering this decision when he hears Ally crying in the bathroom.

She's screaming, curled up small on the shower floor, hands bright red. "I can't get his blood off of me," she sobs, eyes frantically gazing at something that isn't there. The water is scalding hot, steam rising to the ceiling. Austin is surprised the smoke alarm hasn't gone off yet.

"Ally," he whispers, turning down the water and stepping into the shower with her even though he's fully clothed and gathers her arm in his arms, pressing kisses into her hair. His tears mix with the water still coming from the shower head and in turn mix with her tears, sin and blood and fear all mixing together in a pool of water and together they watch as it spirals down the drain.

* * *

It's the third stormy day in a row, and they are on the beach. It's early morning, and the sky is still dark — though whether it's from the grey clouds or just the time Austin is unsure. Maybe both.

They leave a plethora of DNA-brimming items in the car: half-drank water bottles and some of Ally's cigarette butts and most likely something like six thousand hairs they lost while struggling to not fall out of the car after robbing the gas station in Edgewood. Upon finding this car, the police will know that _they were here._

Ally told him to write a note to leave behind, mostly for evidence but also for peace of mind. "Say anything you want to say to anybody, because you're never going to be able to talk to them again." _  
_

Austin writes his heart out.

_I'm sorry to everyone — mom, especially you. I'm so ashamed of all that I've done. I love you so, so much. I just can't live with myself for the things I've done and I need to end it all before I do something I'll regret far more than this. Please don't blame yourself. Please. I love you so much and you are, by far, the greatest mother I could've ever asked for. You're such a special, wonderful person, and I'm sorry I have to leave you like this, but it's just something I need to do. I love you so much. Please be safe. Yours, Austin Moon_

Ally's note is short and sweet and biting — it's her, but in a suicide note:

_To anyone who cares, sorry. - Ally Marie Dawson_

Reaching into her bulging purple backpack, Ally pulls out the clothes and shoes they've selected to leave behind and crumples them, refolding them messily and placing them side by side on the shore; close enough that people will get the hint but far enough that the tide won't come and carry them away. She sets each of their notes on top of the piles, placing a small but sturdy rock on each to keep the breeze from taking them away.

When she's done, she steps back, leaning into Austin's side as they survey their work. Austin wipes the tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes, and then he pulls Ally close and kisses away the tears that have started slipping down her cheeks, smiling gently and kissing her nose. Something akin to hope burns deep within him, and from the way she's smiling at him, he knows Ally sees it too.

Wordlessly, they turn walk off down the beach, leaving the final remnants of Ally Dawson and Austin Moon there on the shore, backs to the sunrise as they head together into their fresh start, their new beginning, hand in bloodied hand.

* * *

end part five

* * *

holllly shit that was an absolute roller coaster to write — i can only hope it was even more of a roller coaster to read, being the sadistic bitch that i am.

guys, we have an epilogue left, and that's it. despite the fact that this story will have been started and finished within a month, i'm going to really miss it. this will have been the first multi-chapter fic i have ever successfully finished in years that doesn't completely suck. you guys are all so incredible, and i cannot even begin to explain how much your support means to me. every review, message, favorite, alert...even every view gives me that extra little nudge.

you guys are fantastic, and i love every single one of you to pieces.


	6. epilogue: sweetheart bandits

**notes:** so, uh. this took a little longer than expected. my apologies, but i really really wanted this to be v perfect and it's not, because i suck, but overall i'm proud that i finished it, even though this epilogue is painfully short but SHHHHHH it wraps things up the way i wanted to. see the end of the chapter for an overly long and sentimental note about how much i love all of you.

also, listen to the song where the lyrics below come from because it's perfect and i almost cried writing this while listening to it bc i'm a sentimental idiot.

* * *

boy, get into my car, got a bad desire/ you know that we'll never leave if we don't get out now/ you're a careless con, and you're a crazy liar/ but baby, nobody can compare to the way you get down — lucky ones, lana del rey

* * *

epilogue: sweetheart bandits

* * *

"I can't believe you're making me call myself Ashton Sun. It would be funny if it weren't so damn stupid."

"Shut up and accept it, Moon."

"At least it's cooler than Alabama. What kind of name is that?"

"Fuck off, Austin."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't. You _looove_ me."

"If you don't shut up I'm going to open the emergency exit and push you out of this damn plane."

"With a parachute?"

"Fine. With a parachute."

* * *

From that point on, they are Alabama Ware and Ashton Sun, two twentysomethings happily married after being high school sweethearts.

Ashton works at a discount tire shop while his lovely wife goes door to door selling perfume and cosmetics. They're a fairly low profile couple, friendly with their neighbors and coworkers but not much else. They have no children, but they do have a dog, a chocolate lab affectionately named Trish. The few people who have been inside the Sun-Ware household claim they have a pet goldfish as well, who Ashton has dubbed 'Dez.' It's a strange name for a fish, but nobody questions it. Mostly because there aren't many people to question it in the first place.

They don't have many friends, even if it is a small town. They like it that way. It makes things easier for everyone involved, after all, if they all just remain acquaintances.

The two are kind of a strange couple, anyway, but there is something about them that keeps anyone from questioning it.

They live in a tiny, one bedroom rented apartment, but people can understand that. Times are tough. Especially with young hooligans running around and stealing from so many small businesses.

With the tragic suicides of Austin Moon and Ally Dawson, Florida was able to, with quite a bit of shame, let out a breath it had been holding for months. Heartbreaking news, yes, but no more worrying about those two anymore.

Allen, Oklahoma, on the other hand, is experiencing a series of burglaries and thefts.

It certainly isn't convenient, but nobody outside the town gives it much thought.

It is, after all, a town of under a thousand residents.

* * *

Still, though, in the dark of the night when they're wrapped up in each other and their sheets and their secrets, they are still Austin and Ally and Austin wouldn't have it any other way.

(They keep guns in both nightstand drawers, right below the stacks of Sinatra, Cash, and Elvis records. Underneath the bed rest five jars full of bills, labeled 'For Someday'.

And maybe every so often Ally gets down on her knees for him in a cramped movie theatre bathroom stall sometimes, just for old time's sake, but that's nobody's business but her own.)

* * *

The time is 8:47 am. The clock on the wall is ticking softly. Sunlight pours in from the windows, bathing their faces in warm yellow light. On the table sits the remaining few of what was, earlier, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, courtesy of Austin, because Ally can't cook to save her life.

From across the table, Ally smiles coyly at him, soft black beanie on her head, all pink lips and narrowed eyes and childish mischief and kicks his leg. A sharp pain erupts in his calf, and he glares at her, kicking her back because she might be a girl but she's also Ally and he'll swallow porcupine quills before he lets her win.

Naturally, she kicks back. Harder.

He's trying to read the paper, and she wants to play footsie.

"Hold on," he mutters, fussing with the black bandanna around his neck, pinning her foot to the ground with his, lacing their fingers together and looking closely at the paper. She's fidgety, though, so he pulls Ally to her feet and they walk out to the car, hand in hand with guns tucked into their belts.

Once they're off and driving and he as a moment to spare, Austin turns the page and sees the headline: _Sweetheart Bandits Strike Again in Small Oklahoma Town._

Austin smiles.

* * *

he's got his gun, he's got his suit on/ she says, "babe, you look so cool."

* * *

WE DID IT, FOLKS. I MADE IT THROUGH WITHOUT KILLING ANYBODY except dallas but nobody gives a shit about dallas, so. i'm not that much of an asshole, except i am. whatever.

i want to give a HUMONGOUS GIGANTIC ENORMOUS THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and even read this story. i have had the time of my life writing it and interacting with you guys, and i'm so thrilled that people enjoy what i have shared with all of you.

will there be more a&a fic to come? of course. it just, um. kind of depends when i get around to sorting out the many, many ideas i have for them. plus, i have a few fics to write as gifts for some friends (u know who u are, cuties.) so those will come first. and i accidentally fell headfirst into the frozen fandom. BUT ALAS, there will be more a&a very soon, my loves.

thank you all for your overwhelming support. each and every


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